


Among the Stars

by HeavyShoegaze



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Female Jon Snow, Gen, Jon goes to Dorne, N plus A equals J, and goes on adventures, and is named Lyanna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 82,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyShoegaze/pseuds/HeavyShoegaze
Summary: A Dornish Prince comes to Winterfell to whisk young Lyanna Snow away to her mother's home, a land of sand and stars, and gives her a chance at the life of adventure and exploration she'd always dreamed. Instead of hiding in the shadows of her true-born siblings, she grows under the harsh Dornish sun and the tutelage of the Red Viper. Facing rambunctious lords, ravenous pirates, false knights, and a manipulative princess, Lyanna finds her inner knight and her inner lady.Also: Chapters 1-3 Under rewrite! If there was something you didn't like, let me know!!!!





	1. Swords Cut Jagged Trails

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna Snow in Winterfell, before a strange Prince changes her life forever.

**Lyanna Snow**

Even from Mikken’s forge, Lyanna could hear the clash of steel as Robb and Theon sparred. Ser Rodrick’s stern instructions cut through Mikken’s clanging as Lyanna sharpened and polished his finished swords. Normally, she’d be right there with them, tourney sword in hand as the three learned from Winterfell’s Master-at-Arms, but as she got older, her father put a stop to her sword lessons. Now, Lyanna could only watch enviously as Robb and Theon trained with Ser Rodrick and then train in secret at night. It wasn’t that bad, though. Mikken always had a soft spot for Lyanna, offering her some coin in exchange for minor help around the forge. Besides, Lyanna spent more time in the training yard than Theon and Robb combined, if you count the late night practice sessions or the tourney sword and sparring dummy she’d smuggled into her room. She could afford to miss a few lessons when she had something more important to do. Lyanna had been saving her money, hoping to commission an actual sword for herself. Lyanna’s father, Ned Stark had refused to give Lyanna or Robb their own swords, telling them that eleven was too young for the responsibility of a deadly weapon and _little girls shouldn’t own swords anyways_. Even Theon, who was several years older, was only allowed a dagger on his hip. While Robb and Theon had grudgingly accepted Ned’s decision, Lyanna figured that working hard and earning the money herself proved she was mature enough for a sword of her own. Mikken had given her a quote for a custom longsword, and Lyanna figured that saving her allowance, working for Mikken, helping the cooks, and cleaning the Armory would get her enough coin in a few moons turns. Now, Lyanna figured she’d have enough in a fortnight. As she polished the sword she was currently cleaning, Lyanna grinned in anticipation, imagining Theon’s jealous face as Lyanna walked around with a sword at her hip or Lord Stark’s proud smile when Lyanna told him how hard she worked to get it.

“I’m Cregan Stark, the Black Wolf!” Robb’s loud voice echoed. Theon’s voice quickly followed.

“And, I’m Hamon Irongut!” Lyanna rolled her eyes. Of course, Theon would name some Ironborn pirate no one would ever have heard of.

“Who?”

“Hamon Irongut!... Well, he’s a hell of a lot better than some King whose balls froze off.”

“Cregan Stark was the Hand of the King during the Hour of the Wolf! He was vital during the dance of dragons!

“Wow. An hour. I stand corrected, Stark. He's so much better than someone who raided the frozen seas and paid the iron price for everything he got.”

 

“Hey Lyanna,” Mikken asked, tearing Lyanna away from listening to Robb and Theon’s bickering. “Who do you think of when you hold a sword?” Lyanna grinned, knowing that Mikken had only asked to be polite. Everyone knew who her favorite warrior was.

When they fought, Robb, Theon, and Lyanna loved to mimic their favorite warriors and Kings. Robb would show off his lessons as heir to Winterfell by declaring himself Cregan Stark or Rodrik Stark and Theon would name some Ironborn warrior that neither Robb nor Lyanna had ever heard, then argue that whatever raider or pillager he named was leagues better than some dead King laying in the crypts. While Robb memorized everything about the old Kings of Winter and Theon learned about the history of the Ironmen, Lyanna always preferred knights like Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryle Redwyne, and Ser Duncan the Tall. Lyanna especially liked all the knights of Aerys’ Kingsguard: Ser Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent, Ser Jonothor Darry, Ser Barristan Selmy, Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Jaime Lannister, and, of course, Ser Arthur Dayne. While Lyanna’s father despised the Kingslayer, Lyanna couldn’t help but be inspired by Ser Jaime, who was knighted at five and ten by _Ser Arthur Dayne_ after defeating the Kingswood Brotherhood and saving the smallfolk of the Crownlands. In Lyanna’s mind, the only thing the Mad King was ever good for was his taste in knights. Aerys’ Seven were the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms; they were noble and chivalrous, and Lyanna dreamed of being like them. Like every boy her age, Lyanna adored the tales of Dunk and Egg, of Aemon the Dragonknight defending Queen Naerys, of Barristan the Bold defeating Duncan the Tall, saving the King from the Defiance at Duskendale, and slaying Maelys the Monstrous. The knight of her dreams, though, was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, who wielded the ancestral sword of House Dayne, Dawn. Every time she swung her practice sword in the courtyard at night, Lyanna imagined herself with a white cloak and brilliant gold armor, cutting down the evil Smiling Knight with Dawn in the name of the King.

“Ser Arthur Dayne, of course.” Mikken laughed a strange laugh, one tinged with sadness and nostalgia.

“Of course! Why did I expect anyone different?” Mikken had a faraway look in his eyes. “Lady Lyanna always talked about the Sword of the Morning. Your Uncle Benjen too. Shame he died. I’d have loved to see Dawn.” Lyanna grimaced. Lord Howland Reed of Greywater Watch had visited recently, and he and Lord Stark had told the story of how they faced Ser Arthur. The knight had fought alone against seven Northmen and would have won if not for Ned Stark stabbing him when his back was turned. Lyanna thought it was disgraceful that Ser Arthur died in such a dishonorable way. In Lyanna's opinion, a noble knight deserved a noble death.

As Lyanna and Mikken worked, they started to speculate about Ser Arthur's sword. Rumor had it that Dawn was forged from the heart of a fallen star and was unbreakable, even stronger than Valyrian steel swords like Ice. Lord Stark had graciously returned Dawn back to Ser Arthur's home of Starfall, where one day a new Dayne would take up the mantle of Sword of the Morning. Lyanna didn't know of anyone other than Ser Arthur who had earned the right to use Dawn, so who knew if anyone would ever follow in his footsteps?

 

Lyanna didn't realize how much time had passed until she felt a tugging on her sleeve. She looked down and saw Arya, her littlest and favorite sister, on the verge of tears. Ghost sensed her distress and nuzzled up to her chest. Arya’s eyes were red, and tears streamed down her dirty cheeks. Lyanna frowned, figuring Sansa and her friends had been teasing her again.

“What's wrong, Little Wolf?” Lyanna asked as she picked Arya up and sat her on the bench. Arya opened her mouth to speak, then closed her mouth, unable to talk without sobbing further. Instead, she shoved a handkerchief into Lyanna's hands. It was white with a grey wolf holding a sword in its mouth. At least, that was the idea. The stitching was rough, to say the least. The wolf looked like an oval with smaller ovals for legs and the sword was little more than a thin line with a smaller line at the hilt where the crossguard would be. The stitching was sloppy and crooked, and the fabric was riddled with holes from when Arya would get frustrated and stab the material instead of delicately sew like her sister. To Lyanna, it was perfect.

“I'm giving you my favor, so now you're my champion,” she declared. Lyanna looked at Mikken with confusion, but his eyes clearly said _you're on your own_.

“wha-” Arya cut her off.

“Say you're my champion. _Please_.” The distress in her voice told Lyanna that whatever was going on, it was of dire importance. At least, it was to Arya.

“Fine. I'm your champion. What's going on?” Arya roughly wiped her tears from her eyes.

“SansaandJeynesaidtheyweregoingtocompetetoseewhowastheQueenofLoveandBeautysotheymadefavorstogivetoRobbandTheonwhentheyweresparringandRobbwasSansaschampionandTheonwasJeyneschampionbuttherewasnooneelseandJeynesaiditwasbecausenoonewouldbemychampionandSansasaiditwasbecauseI’mahorsefaceand-”

“Woah, breathe,” Lyanna interrupted before Arya ran out of breath and passed out. She rubbed Arya’s shoulders and wiped her face with a clean towel as she began to calm down. “Now then. What's the problem?” Arya took a deep breath.

“Sansa and Jeyne said they were going to compete to see who the Queen of Love and Beauty was, so they made favors to give to Robb and Theon when they were sparring. Robb was Sansa’s champion and Theon was Jeyne’s. They said I was too ugly to get a champion, but you're my champion, right?”

“Err…” Lyanna hesitated. Arya was luring her into dangerous territory. While Robb and Theon were by no means pushovers, Lyanna could probably take them if she tried. The problem was that she was a _bastard_ , and bastards aren’t supposed to beat true-borns, especially not heirs. And what would people say if the heir to Winterfell and the heir to the Iron Islands lost to a girl? Lyanna didn’t want to know what would happen to her if Lady Stark saw her knock her precious son into the dirt. She’d probably throw her out of Winterfell. However, Lyanna could never deny Arya, especially when she looked so despondent.

“Please, Lyanna? Robb didn’t say anything to Sansa or Jeyne and Theon laughed and told me to go to the stables. Can’t you teach them a lesson? For me?” Lyanna groaned. Arya had her wrapped around her little finger.

“Fine, Arry. Anything for you.” Arya immediately brightened and grabbed Lyanna’s hand to take her to the courtyard. Lyanna threw Mikken an apologetic glance over her shoulder but Mikken just laughed.

“Go on, Lyanna!” he shouted. “Don’t worry about me. You’ve worked hard enough. Show those two what Ser Arthur would’ve done. If you win, I’ll cut my price down a quarter!” Mikken winked and Lyanna grasped the implication of that last sentence. _If I win, I can finally afford a sword of my own!_ With that, she raced to the courtyard, a wild grin on her face.

 

 

**Robb Stark**

In truth, Robb felt bad about sending Arya off in tears. He’d never meant to hurt her, but everyone was laughing, and he got caught up in it. Looking at Jeyne and Sansa’s smug expressions, he felt a twinge of guilt. _No matter. She’ll get over it._ Robb steeled himself and readied himself for another set of blows. Now that he and Theon had an audience, he really wanted to win. He gripped his blunted sword tightly as Theon stood in front of him with a cocky smirk, baiting him to take the first swing. Before either of them could make a move, though, they heard Arya return, her cheerful voice a contrast to the distressed one he’d last heard.

“Jeyne! Sansa! I have a champion of my own!” She ran towards them dragging an exasperated Lyanna by the sleeve. Robb lit up when his sister pulled the sleeve of her shirt away, mussing up Arya’s hair before grabbing a tourney sword of her own. It’d been ages since Lyanna trained with them, and Robb missed sparring with his sister. Sansa and Jeyne, however, were less than impressed. They looked at Lyanna’s wild hair, dirty face, blackened hands, and _trousers_ with judgement in their eyes.

“Of course. Arya Horseface brought the bastard,” Sansa sneered. Robb hated the way Sansa had adopted their mother’s disdain for Lyanna. “We were having a good time. Figures she’d go and ruin it.”

“It’s no matter,” Jeyne replied, equally smug. “Snow hasn’t been in the training yard in _ages_. I’d have thought she’d given up this nonsense swordplay completely after all the righteous beatings her betters have given her. Then again, it’s not like a _bastard_ could ever be an actual lady.”

“You hear that, Snow? Best slink off to some dark corner and pout some more,” Theon laughed. Robb grimaced, sympathizing with Lyanna. He did truly hate it when people looked down at Lyanna, but he didn’t want Theon to look down at _him_ too, so he kept quiet, throwing Lyanna a weak smile.

At first, Lyanna scowled at the taunting, but she looked down at Arya, who was grinning at her expectantly, and his face softened, easing into a small smile. They looked at each other like there was some secret between them before Arya moved to sit next to Sansa and Jeyne. Lyanna rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms and legs, her head held high and her face calm and unperturbed. Robb never saw her carry herself this way: proud, self-assured, and unashamed. It was a welcome change of pace. Lyanna ran her hand across the pommels of the the rack of sparring blades, frowning slightly as she passed the longswords and picked a small, one-handed, arming sword. She casually twirled the sword in her left hand, which was unusual as Robb had only ever seen her fight with her right. Clearly, Lyanna favored her left, for she spun the sword in her hand as if it were second nature.

There was an unnerving gleam in Lyanna’s eyes, the eyes that always had everyone in Winterfell gossiping. The Stark children save for Arya all favored their mother, with auburn hair and blue eyes. Sansa took after their mother most of all, with conventionally pretty, soft features. Robb was told he looked like his father’s dead older brother, Brandon Stark, with his stocky build, square jaw, and straight nose. Arya alone took after the Starks, with a long face, dark brown hair, and grey eyes.

Lyanna was the exception. At first, she seemed all-Stark, even more than Arya. Her hair was inky black, even darker than their Uncle Benjen’s, and tumbled down past her shoulders like a wild waterfall. While Sansa and her friends wore elegant and fancy braids, Lyanna always kept her hair in long pretty curls. Lyanna never cared much about her appearance, walking about in boy’s clothing with very little if any powders or jewelry, but she did take exceptionally good care of her hair. Robb heard the older servants whisper that Lya took resembled her namesake, who was more wolf than lady. Starks traditionally had straight hair, so Lyanna must’ve gotten her curls from her mother. She was leaner and shorter than Sansa, favoring a different kind of build. Her skin was pale, almost snow-white, and she carried herself the way their father did when he was younger, quiet and solemn.

That ended at her eyes. Lyanna’s eyes weren’t grey like Arya’s. They weren’t brown, blue, hazel, or green, or any normal color. No, Lyanna’s eyes were _purple_ , a depthless violet that never failed to set tongues wagging. Those eyes were a stark reminder that Lyanna’s mother wasn’t Lady Stark, and everyone wondered who’s eyes they were. Lyanna’s eyes were windows into her soul, displaying her anger, her sadness, and her joy for all to see. They were her most defining features, and Robb had a lot of experience reading them to know what Lyanna was thinking. However, this time, they shone with something unusual, a mixture of mischief and excitement that had Robb uneasy.

“Alright then. We have three fair maidens watching, but only one can be the Queen of Love and Beauty.” Lyanna winked at Arya, who giggled conspiratorially. _Something is up._ “Greyjoy. Stark. I’m just a bastard. And a _girl_. Show me what you _lordlings_ can do.” Robb was so shocked by Lyanna’s change in demeanor that he didn’t react when Lyanna attacked Theon, striking quickly and spinning away from his counters with a grace Robb had never seen from her. Lyanna easily forced Theon onto the defensive, reversing her grip and batting Theon’s sword away before kneeing him in the wrist, knocking his sword to the ground. Before Lyanna could force Theon to yield, Robb lunged; Lyanna parried the blow, but it gave Theon time to shake the pain out of his hand and pick up his sword again. Robb and Theon paused, looking at Lyanna as if for the first time. It certainly felt like it was their first meeting. Lyanna had an ease and precision to her that Robb had never associated with his half-sister. Behind them, he could hear Jeyne and Sansa whispering furiously while Arya laughed. Robb and Theon circled Lyanna, who backed away slowly, trying not to get surrounded, until her back brushed the rack of tourney  Ser Rodrick brought out every day for training. Lyanna grinned and pulled another short sword with her right hand. She twirled the swords experimentally, finding a comfortable grip, and pointed them at Robb and Theon. Robb was shocked; he’d never seen Lyanna fight like this, like she was _dancing_. Lyanna was always his half-sister, who they humored when she asked to spar with them. He’d never thought she was _good_ , but here she was, showing off as everyone in the courtyard stopped to watch. Lyanna’s violet eyes, usually deep and haunting, were bright and lively, sparkling with exhilaration.

Theon attacked first, eager not to be caught off guard like before. Lyanna parried his first strike, a jab at her midsection, with her left and sidestepped an overhead strike, taking the chance to attack Robb with a flurry of swipes before blocking Theon’s next swing with her right. Robb was impressed. Lyanna didn’t seem to have any difficulty keeping track of Robb’s and Theon’s movements, using parries and counterattacks to keep both of them at a distance. Robb couldn’t get more than a few swings in before Lyanna would counter his strikes, landing hits on his and Theon’s legs and torsos. Lyanna feinted to Theon’s left with a teasing jab. When Theon took the bait, thinking he had an opening and swinging with all his might, Lyanna spun to the right and tripped him, swatting him on the ass and kicking him in the back of the knee. Theon grunted in surprise as he fell to his hands and knees. He tried to strike back, but Lyanna caught his blow, swiping the sword from his hand with a flick of her wrist. Lyanna kicked the sword out of his reach and held the one in her right to Theon’s neck.

“Yield, squid,” Lyanna teased. Theon grumbled in protest, but Lyanna pushed him hard, knocking him on his back. She brought the tip of her sword to Theon’s throat, right at the Adam’s Apple. “And now you’re a dead squid.” Arya cheered while Jeyne muttered something about horsefaces and bastards. No one paid her any heed, though. Everyone in the yard had stopped to watch as the Bastard of Winterfell danced around her trueborn brother and her father’s ward. Robb tightened his grip as Lyanna turned towards him, eyes wide and face alight in a wild, exhilarated smile. Without a second to catch her breath, Lyanna rushed him, striking left and right without cease. Lyanna gave Robb no quarter, forcing him onto the defensive with a barrage of blows. What strikes Robb did manage were parried effortlessly. Robb swung to the left, half expecting Lyanna to block so he could attack to the right. Instead, Lyanna parried the stroke downwards, opening Robb to a jab to the stomach. Robb felt the air whoosh out of his lungs and staggered back, swinging blindly to try and create some distance. Before he could catch his breath, Lyanna caught his attack between her swords and twisted his arm behind him. Lyanna kicked him hard in the back, knocking Robb face-first into the dirt. As the sword clattered to the ground, Robb felt Lyanna’s weight on his back and the tip of Lyanna’s sword at the back of his neck.

“I yield,” Robb muttered. Lyanna laughed and got off him. She picked the swords and put them away before helped Robb up. “Seven hells, Lyanna. When did you learn that?” Lyanna smiled sheepishly.

“I practice a lot. When I’m not at lessons or chores I’m in the sparring yard.” Robb rubbed at his stomach, feeling where a bruise would most likely form tomorrow. He sent an apologetic look at Sansa, who’s face was as red as her hair. Arya was gloating, calling herself the Queen of Love and Beauty. Theon looked pretty grumpy, no doubt angry at having lost to a girl five years younger than him. Robb felt the same way, but he couldn’t help but also feel proud of Lyanna. Clearly his sister had worked much harder than him, and it showed. Lyanna’s swordsmanship was incredible, and her movement was fluid and graceful.

“Did Ser Rodrick teach you all this?” Lyanna shook his head before responding.

“No. Well, I learned the basics from watching him train you and Theon. Other than that, I spar with the guards, or with people travelling through Wintertown. It’s mostly just doing what comes naturally.” Rob smiled widely, but inwardly he felt a little embarrassed. His _sister_ had thrown him to the dirt with ease, and in front of everyone in Winterfell! Even still, he tried not to be angry at Lyanna. She was still his best friend, after all. Robb supposed he could forgive this humiliation.

“Ha! You lost!” Arya crowed, making Robb and Theon blush and glare at the ground. “Lya and I are the winners!” She hugged her big sister tightly, grinning smugly at Sansa and Jeyne.

“How can you be winners? Who would want to marry _you_?!” Jeyne sneered. Before Arya could say something, Sansa jumped on, hoping to salvage her wounded pride.

“I mean, look at them! Neither of them will ever be a proper lady.” At that, Arya seemed about to cry.

“At least Horseface isn’t a bastard! Snow’s only fit for the brothels. And she wouldn’t cost much!” Theon hissed, gesturing lewdly to his crotch, like he was wont to do around Lyanna when Lord Stark wasn’t around. Lyanna rarely lost her temper, but Theon’s lecherous gazes and constant advances never failed to provoke a response. Lyanna grabbed a practice sword and pointed it at Theon.

“How about this, squid. When I kick your ass again, you can go to the whorehouse yourself, because the gods know your father won’t want you back.”

With a roar, Theon charged and swung for Lyanna’s head. With a smirk, she stepped back and parried the strike to the side. Lyanna kept backing up, letting Theon stay on the offensive until he overextended on a thrust. Lyanna took advantage of the opening to push his thrust to the side and catch his chest with a stab of her own. As Theon stumbled back, Lyanna struck him a couple more times, taking out her anger on Theon’s chest, arms, and legs. Robb had to restrain Lyanna after Theon fell to the ground. Otherwise, she might’ve killed him.

“Enough, Lya. You made your point. Let’s go back to sparring.” Robb expected Lyanna to agree with him or keep fighting his grip, but instead Lyanna frowned, retreating back to the sullen expression she normally wore. She looked down, as if she wanted to melt into the ground. “What’s wrong? Is it something I said?” Robb looked over his shoulder and saw their father standing next to Ser Rodrick. They were staring at Lyanna, faces unreadable. Robb winced, hoping he didn’t get Lyanna in trouble. The courtyard, which was aflutter with conversation as people discussed the Bastard of Winterfell’s sudden prowess with the sword, went silent as the Lord of Winterfell walked to his children.

“Father-,” Robb began, hoping to keep Lyanna from getting in trouble. Ned cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He looked at Lyanna with a stoic expression.

“What is the meaning of this, Lyanna?” Lyanna bowed her head, avoiding her father’s eyes.

“It’s not her fault,” Arya interrupted, pulling on Ned’s shoulder. “I made her do it.”

“I thought I put a stop to your swordplay,” Ned said, still looking at Lyanna.

“I’m sorry, Lord Stark. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear. It won’t happen again. I prom-mff….” Lyanna’s protests were silenced when Ned knelt and hugged her tightly, an unusual gesture from the generally reserved Lord of Winterfell.

“I should have known better. You _were_ named for my sister, after all. You fight like a true knight. And there’s nothing to forgive. All I saw was a girl defending her little sister. And teaching her other sister and her friend a lesson in humility.” He looked at Sansa and Jeyne sternly and, to their credit, they did look apologetic. Ned pulled back and held Lyanna’s shoulders at an arm’s length. “But why haven’t I seen you fight like this before?”

“You said I couldn’t fight any more. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Besides, I’m just a bastard girl. It’s not right for me to beat my betters.”

“Betters? Robb is your brother, not your better. If you’re going to train with a sword, then I expect nothing but your best. If Robb and Theon want to win, then they need to work hard and get better, not rely on their sister to go easy on them. The sword cares not for your surname, Lyanna, only that you wield it well.” Ned tilted Lyanna’s chin up, forcing the girl to look him in the eyes. “I’m proud of you, my child. You work hard and fight better than boys several years your senior. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yeah, Lyanna,” Robb piped up. “After dinner, you’re teaching me some of those moves. When we come back from Riverrun, I’m gonna give you a challenge.” Lyanna stilled at that last part.

“You’re going to Riverrun? I didn’t know that.” Lyanna sounded hurt, like she didn’t know that he, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and baby Rickon were going to visit Riverrun for a few moons’ turns and leaving her behind. She looked back at Ned, who had a guilty look on his usually stern face. Ned stood up, brushing the dirt from the knees off his knees.

“Your siblings are travelling South to visit their mother’s family in Riverrun. They’ll leave tomorrow morning, when their uncle, Edmure Tully, arrives.”

“And me, Lord Stark?” Theon interrupted. Robb didn’t know what he expected, since he was technically a hostage to ensure Balon Greyjoy’s good behavior.

“I’ve spoken to Wyman Manderly of White Harbor, Theon. He’s agreed to take you for some time to teach you about shipping and navigation. I know you’ve been itching to learn. You’ll come back when Robb and his siblings return from their grandfather’s keep.” Theon let out a whoop of triumph.

“You’re all leaving tomorrow?” Lyanna croaked. Robb was heartbroken at her betrayed tone.

“I’m sorry Lyanna,” Robb began, putting a (hopefully comforting) hand on his sister’s shoulder. “I thought you knew. We won’t be gone long.” Robb got the sense that this wasn’t helping, but Arya came to his rescue.

“I wanted you to come, Lyanna, but you’re needed here. Father always says _there must always be a Stark in Winterfell_. And think how bored Father will be alone! Winterfell needs you, Lyanna!” Lyanna smiled slightly and ruffled Arya’s hair. Robb considered Lyanna his best friend, but he was always jealous of the bond Lyanna and Arya shared. _They always know what to say to each other,_ he thought grumpily.

“Alright, children. You need to pack your things. Especially you, Arya. I expect you to listen to your mother and act like a proper lady.” Sansa and Jeyne primly walked back inside, chattering about what they were going to wear for the journey. Arya pouted a little, but Lyanna whispered something in her ear and she brightened, sprinting back to the main keep. Robb and Theon made to leave as well, but Ned was interrupted by Jory Cassel, the captain of the guards.

“Lord Stark!” he began, breathless. “There are Dornishmen at the gates!”

“Are you sure, Jory?” Ned sighed in frustration. He didn’t seem surprised, only annoyed.

“Aye, my Lord. They bear banners with sun and spear, led by Prince Oberyn Martell.” Ned swore under his breath, a shock to Robb, who’d never heard his father lose his composure like this.

“Damn it. I thought we’d have more time before that bloody viper got here. Robb, Theon, I’ll see you for dinner.” Ned stroked his beard roughly, clearly agitated by the arrival of the Dornish Prince. Robb didn’t know what was wrong. He’d heard stories of the Red Viper, and he wanted to know what the man was doing here. “I mean it. This is personal business between myself and the Martells.” Robb didn’t need to be told twice, his resolve buckling under his father’s stern gaze. As he and Theon walked out of the courtyard, he heard his father’s reluctant voice. “Lyanna, I want you to come with me. I guess this matter involves you too.” Lyanna looked shocked, but didn’t question it, following Ned as they made for the gate.

“What do you think Snow has to do with the Martells?” Theon asked. Robb just shrugged, noncommittally, but memories of gossiping servants and rumors of a tragic Dornish femme fatale came unbidden. _Do they know who Lyanna’s mother is?_

 

 

**Lyanna Snow**

Lyanna’s mind swam with questions as she, Lord Stark, and Jory approached the gate. Ned signaled to the guards, who opened the gate, letting the riders through. They carried orange banners depicting a red sun pierced by a yellow spear, the sigil of House Martell, the ruling house of Dorne. The man in front, a tall, handsome, olive skinned man, dismounted with a flourish, greeting Lord Stark with a wide grin.

“Ah, Lord Stark. Your lands are as beautiful as they are vast and frozen.” Lord Stark was less than amused.

“Prince Oberyn. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Oberyn laughed, finding humor in the cold response.

“I’ve come from the Wall. I’ve never seen it before. Truly majestic.” Oberyn trailed off, his lilting accent slurring his words. “Anyways, I’ve come to Winterfell for a specific purpose, as you well know.” He turned to Lyanna, a faraway look in his eyes. “It’s time the girl returned to Dorne.”

“If you had waited for my response, you’d know my answer is no. You can’t expect me to send my little girl to the other side of Westeros. This is her home!” Lord Stark was livid, angrier than Lyanna had ever seen him. Prince Oberyn, however, was unfazed. He stood there in his overdone furs and smiled in return.

“Perhaps this is a conversation best had inside,” he suggested. “My men and I aren’t used to the cold.” Sure enough, the men accompanying Prince Oberyn were heavily bundled and shivering. Lord Stark massaged his temples in frustration before acquiescing, inviting the Dornishmen inside.

 

As soon as Prince Oberyn and Lord Stark entered the solar, they started arguing loudly. Lyanna still didn’t know what any of this had to do with her, but she stood by the door and let them debate.

“She’s my daughter, and it’s my decision to keep her here! I will hear no more of this!”

“Oh, yes you will! She was born in Dorne! She belongs _in Dorne_!”

“Who do you think you are? You come into my home and try to take my daughter?!”

“I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, that’s who I am. And I’m taking her to Dorne!”

“Lyanna is my blood…”

“And she’s Beric’s blood too. He’s never even met his granddaughter. After all you’ve taken from him, after all the hurt you’ve caused his family, how can you keep his grandchild from him?”

“This isn’t about me or Beric. This is about my daughter.”

“Then maybe we give the girl the choice?”

“She’s one and ten. She’s too young to make such life-changing decisions. I’m her father, and the decision is mine!” Oberyn whirled around and looked at Lyanna, who awkwardly stood by the wall, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and otherwise fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Lyanna,” he drawled, his accent curling around Lyanna’s name. “Wouldn’t you like to see Dorne, where you were born? To feel the warmth of the Dornish sun while everyone here freezes to death?” Lyanna wished the ground would swallow her up as the two men looked at her expectantly. _What the hell is going on. What does this strange man – this strange Prince – want from me?_

“Winterfell has always been my home, Your Grace.” Oberyn waved her off.

“Call me Uncle Oberyn, Lyanna. Your mother was like a sister to me.” That got Lyanna’s interest, and the question sprung from her mouth before she could think.

“My mother? Do you know who she is?” Oberyn looked incredulous.

“You didn’t tell her? How dare you, Stark?! Ashara’s girl freezing to death in this frozen wasteland was one thing, but to not even tell her of her mother is unacceptable! An outrage!” Lyanna’s eyes widened. This strange Dornish Prince had told Lyanna more of her mother in a few minutes than her father ever had.

“My mother was Ashara Dayne?” Ned froze under Lyanna’s desperate gaze. Lyanna could tell the name brought painful memories, and her father seemed saddened by the question. He slumped forwards, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a few seconds before nodding in affirmation.

“Aye, Lyanna. Ashara was your mother.” Lyanna felt his heart double in pace. _My mother. Ashara Dayne. Her name was Ashara Dayne._ Lyanna couldn’t believe it. Her mother was a beautiful, highborn lady? She’d never dared to dream that such a thing was possible. Lyanna must have had a look of wonder on her face, for Oberyn relaxed, his smirk giving way to a genuine smile.

“Ashara and I were thick as thieves growing up, and not a day goes by that I don’t miss her greatly. When your grandfather, Lord Beric Dayne of Starfall, told me of you, I had to come see you for myself. And I knew you were a Dayne the moment I saw you. You may have the Stark coloring like your late Aunt, but you have Ashara’s eyes and you look exactly like she did when she was your age. Though now that I look, there’s a bit of Arthur in you too,” he said, tweaking her nose. Lyanna’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

“The Sword of the Morning?!” she squeaked.

“Ha! Heard of him, have you? Well, I grew up with Arthur too, and every time you speak you remind me of him. So much so, it’s like he’s still here.” Oberyn gave Lord Stark a sharp look before continuing. “Lord Beric wants to meet you, to show you the lands your mother called home. He wants to show you the towers of Starfall, the Torrentine, the Water Gardens, and the majesty of Sunspear. In Dorne, no one cares that your surname is Snow. I have five daughters of my own, all Sands, and I certainly don’t make then eat at the lower tables. I’ll even take you as my squire if you wish. I can see from your hands that you like to swing a sword. Any daughter of Ashara’s deserves the best.” Lyanna looked at Oberyn with a hopeful expression.

“You would train me with swords?” Lord Stark looked at her with an unreadable expression. He turned to Prince Oberyn.

“Please, give me some time to discuss this with my daughter.” Oberyn nodded.

“I don’t want to separate your family, Stark. I know you’re a man of honor, and I owe you for sending Elia’s remains back to her home. All I want is for Ashara’s daughter to have the best life possible.” With that, he swept out of the solar, leaving Lyanna and his father alone in the room.

“Lyanna…” Ned paused, searching for the right words. “…do you want to go to Starfall?” Lyanna hesitated for a moment before answering.

“I don’t know. I like Winterfell. I really do. It’s just…”

“You’ve never had a mother, or another family like the others have. And now you’d like to see your mother’s home and learn more about her.” Lyanna nodded, amazed at how easily her father read her.

“Then it’s settled then. I only want you to be happy, Lyanna. If Starfall can give you a better life than Winterfell, than you should go to Dorne. But I want you to know that there will always be a home for you in Winterfell. And you will always be a Stark.” Lyanna hugged her father tightly, burying her teary eyes in her father’s chest.

“Thank you, Lord Stark,” she whispered.

“And I will always be proud to be your father, Lyanna.”

 

 

Dinner was a subdued affair. Edmure Tully, who had arrived shortly after Prince Oberyn, sat next to Lady Stark. They had a cheerful conversation, but occasionally one of them would look in Lyanna’s direction and scowl, Tully blue eyes boring a hole in her head. It didn’t help that Oberyn insisted that Lyanna join him at the main table, a place Lyanna had never dreamed of sitting. Lyanna knew that her father would get an earful from the Tully heir for this; she knew the Tullys saw her mere existence as an insult to Lady Stark, which she guessed was true. Normally, that would have affected Lyanna, but Oberyn drew her undivided attention. He told wild stories about his travels and adventures, drawing all of the attention to himself. Lyanna wasn’t sure if he acted boisterous for the express purpose of pissing off the Tullys or whether he was always this loud, but she certainly enjoyed the prince’s company. Arya and Robb, who sat between Edmure and Oberyn keeping the peace, gave Oberyn their rapt attention as he told them the story behind his nickname, the Red Viper.

“So, Lord Edgar Yronwood and I agreed to a duel at sunset to settle our differences. The duel was to first blood, but Yronwood refused to back off even after I landed several strikes. So, I slashed his arm, gouging him deeply so he couldn’t fight back. The wound festered, and he died a few days later. A tragedy, truly,” Oberyn said, with a smirk indicating he mourned the poor Lord Yronwood very little. “Everyone thought I had poisoned my blade, so they called me the Red Viper.”

“Did you, Your… er, Uncle?” Lyanna asked. Robb caught that last word and his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“My blade wasn’t actually poisoned, but it certainly is now,” he said with a sly wink. Arya and Lyanna excitedly peppered Oberyn with questions about what poisons he used and where he learned all of this until Robb, never one for patience, asked the question that was on everyone’s minds.

“Your Grace, why are you here? It’s a long voyage to Dorne.” Oberyn smiled and put his arm around Lyanna.

“Lyanna’s mother, Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, was a very dear friend. We grew up as siblings in the Water Gardens by Sunspear. When I learned she had a son, I had to see him for himself. I understand that you’re travelling to Riverrun on the morrow?” Robb nodded cautiously. “Well, Lyanna and I will accompany you for part of the journey and then make our way to White Harbor, where a ship waits to take us home.”

“You can’t leave!” Arya looked aghast. “What about me?”

“Arya…” Lyanna began but was interrupted.

“It’s not fair. You get to go to Dorne and I have to go to the Riverlands? Take me with you.”

“Arya…” Lady Stark began warningly.

“Riverrun is boring. I want to go with Lyanna! Father, please?” Ned just put his head in his hands, not wanting to face his incredibly stubborn daughter.

“Arry, you’re already going to Riverrun to see your mother’s family. I’m doing the same in Starfall.”

“We’ll see Lyanna when we get back,” Robb tried to soothe Arya, but Lyanna winced, knowing Arya wouldn’t take the next bit of news well.

“You won’t, actually. I’m going to be staying in Starfall for the near future. Uncle Oberyn has offered to take me as his squire.” Arya immediately stood up in outrage.

“You’re leaving forever! No!” Robb grabbed her arm, trying to get her to sit down, but she refused. “I won’t let you go!”

“Arya! Stop making a scene!” Lady Stark ordered angrily.

“You have to take me with you!” Robb put his hand over Arya’s mouth and forced her to sit.

“Are you sure about this, Lyanna? You aren’t being forced to leave, are you?” Lyanna smiled at his brother’s concern.

“Of course not. I just… I want to be something other than the Bastard of Winterfell. I want to see the world and meet my mother’s family. If I don’t then I’ll spend the rest of my life as Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard, or Lord Robb Stark’s bastard sister, wondering if there’s something more for me out there. I have half a family, half a home, half a name…” Lyanna trailed off, waving her hand to illustrate her point. “I just want the chance to be my own woman. I think I deserve that, at least.” Robb smiled weakly at Lyanna.

“I guess that’s too good an offer to refuse, but I’ll miss you all the same, Lyanna.”

“Aye, I’ll miss you too, Robb. And you, Arya,” she said, mussing up Arya’s hair. “I’ll be sure to write every chance I get. I’ll tell you all about Sunspear and Starfall if you write about Riverrun and the Trident.” Lyanna leaned over Oberyn to whisper into Arya’s ear. “And you had better keep up your practice. When I come back, I may bring you a sword if you’re good enough.” Arya brightened immediately, wiping her tears away.

“It’s a deal,” Robb said, shaking Lyanna’s hand. “But come back, yeah? Winterfell won’t be the same without you.”

 

 

It was his last night in Winterfell. Lyanna thought she’d feel sad, but she was too overcome with excitement. Oberyn had told her stories of Starfall and Sunspear, and Lyanna couldn’t wait to see if they were as beautiful as Oberyn claimed. After dinner, Lyanna snuck out past the courtyard to Mikken’s forge to say goodbye to the dear blacksmith. She held the pouch containing her savings close to her chest; Lyanna had one last task before she left Winterfell. Lyanna walked in just as Mikken was closing shop for the night.

“Hello Lyanna! What can I do for you?” Lyanna presented the pouch.

“I think this is enough for a sword. Can I buy one?” Mikken looked a little beyond Lyanna. When Lyanna turned around, she saw Prince Oberyn standing with an amused expression.

“I was planning on giving you a dagger for our travels, but it seems you’ve a better idea.” Mikken smirked.

“Lyanna’s been working in my forge for the better part of the past year to earn enough coin for a sword.” Oberyn nodded approvingly.

“Good. Then that sword is truly yours.”

“So, Lyanna,” Mikken continued, ushering the two of them into his forge. “You’re going to travel to Dorne?”

“Aye I am, Mikken. I’m going to stay with my mother’s family in Starfall.” Mikken looked around until he found a sheathed sword in the back. He handed it to Lyanna, who held it with reverence. The scabbard was made of leather with steel bracings. There was a white wolf with red eyes stitched on the side, running from the hilt to the tip. The sword itself was a bastard sword made of strong Northern steel, with an understated, clean steel crossguard and a soft leather grip around the hilt. It was very clear that the sword was custom made for Lyanna and worth a great deal more than Lyanna had paid. “Mikken. This is beautiful.”

“It’s no Dawn, of course, but it’s one of the best I’ve made in a long time. I started working on it when you first walked in looking to earn some coin. It’s a bit big, but you’ll grow into it for sure.” Lyanna embraced him tightly.

“Thank you,” she choked out. “Thank you for everything.”

“My pleasure, Lady Lyanna. You had better write, you hear? I want to know how Dornish swords compare to good Northern steel.” Lyanna nodded. “Now get some rest. It’s a long way to Dorne.” As Lyanna and Oberyn left, Mikken called out.

“A sword like that needs a name, you know.” Lyanna thought for a second before answering.

“Frostbite. Her name is Frostbite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things about this story. Just some stuff I wanted to get off my chest, so y'know, feel free to skip:
> 
> First, Jon/Lyanna was originally a boy, but I switched the character's gender after writing the rough draft of the next chapter. I wanted to try something new, y'know? Hopefully this makes the story more interesting. Unfortunately, this means there are probably some typos where the character is misgendered. Sorry about that. Also, I couldn't be bothered to change Ghost's gender. I don't think it matters that much, since none of Ghost's characteristics are stereotypically gendered like, say, Lady.
> 
> Second: I know that Jon being Rhaegar and Lyanna's son makes more sense, and generally I do think that's a more interesting backstory for him (or her, I guess), but like I said. I wanted to try something new.
> 
> Third: I'm not going to make Lyanna a complete rip-off of Arya or the original Lyanna Stark, even though it may seem that way in this chapter. I'll try to keep faithful to Jon's character in the books/show as best as I can, though this is a story about Lyanna's character growth. So, I guess she's out of character. Beware?
> 
> Fourth: I'm trying to do a long form story with regular updates. Hopefully, I'll be able to update every week and a half to two weeks. I don't know if anyone will like this, per-se, but I'm challenging myself with a longer story and I'm giving myself regular, realistic deadlines for chapters. Especially if I want to write some one-shots based on other ideas. But anyways, expect the next chapter around April 2nd. 
> 
> Fifth: I think this is a good length for a chapter. Hopefully it justifies the long wait time. I'll make sure it isn't full of filler, though. Honestly, I have the opposite problem. Before editing, this was easily twice as long. 
> 
> Sixth: I'm not the greatest about canon-compliance. I'll try to keep most characters in-character, and I'll try to limit the amount of original characters or houses, but just don't expect this to follow the events of the books/show. 
> 
> Seventh: I'm a little hazy with the rating system. I have the general plot points of the story outlined already, but expect the rating to change from T to M. Mostly for violence; I'm not planing on writing any sex scenes. Trust me, you don't want to read whatever my pathetic attempts at smut would be. Additionally, this isn't particularly a shippy story. Before the genderswap, it was Jon/Arianne, but I don't know if that will stay the same. Either way, that was never the focus of the story.
> 
> Eighth (Eighth?! Jesus...): To any involved with modern fencing or HEMA, don't expect me to write swordfighting scenes with any sort of historical accuracy. I'm a lousy fencer with no experience with historical European martial arts. The long swordfighting scenes are mostly there to show how important it is to the main character. I'd love to know where I can improve on that front, though.
> 
> Ninth: This isn't Sansa or Cat bashing. I promise. It's from Jon/Lyanna's childhood POV, and I'm trying to be authentic to the characters, so they're gonna come across poorly. At least in the beginning, anyways. I'll try to write from their points of view too, cuz they are complicated, interesting characters themselves. This may have a lot of Theon bashing, but honestly? Fuck Theon.
> 
> Finally, this is the first thing I'm posting on AO3, so, I'll try to fix any major fuck-ups in formatting or putting things in the wrong place, but bear with me.
> 
> Phew. I think that's everything I wanted to say. I swear to God the notes won't be this obnoxious every chapter.
> 
> In the next chapter: Lyanna and the Starks part ways. As her siblings come to terms with her absence, Lyanna arrives in the strange land where she was born and meets new friends and foes.


	2. Wolves in the River and the First Snow in Dorne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and the Starks part ways. Robb tries to keep the peace, and Lyanna sees her new home.

**Lyanna**

_This is my last night in Winterfell. Tomorrow, I’m leaving the North. Maybe forever. I might never see snow again._

The thoughts churned in Lyanna’s mind, keeping her from sleep. She lay under her furs with an arm over her eyes trying to get some rest, but her mind was spinning. A Prince from a kingdom on the other side of the world was taking her away from home to a family she never knew she had. It seemed like one of Sansa’s songs. Lyanna tossed and turned, but she couldn’t get any sleep. Resigned, Lyanna sat up and got out from under the furs. She ran a hair through her curls as they fell around her shoulders. Lyanna winced where her fingers caught on tangles as she tried to shake the tiredness from her head. Resigning herself to the fact that she’d probably not sleep much that night, she stood up and walked over to her chest.

Prince – _Uncle_ Oberyn had assured Lyanna that her grandfather, Lord Beric Dayne of Starfall, had more than enough clothes for her to wear, so Lyanna packed very little. Lyanna picked up her new sword, the only truly important thing she was taking from Winterfell. Mikken had provided Lyanna with a scabbard, belt, and matching dagger; standard practice, Mikken assured her. Lyanna unsheathed her sword – Frostbite – and took a few swings, feeling the balance. _Mikken was right_ , Lyanna mused. _This is incredible_. The sword was perfectly balanced. Lyanna held it in her left hand and the tourney sword he’d ‘borrowed’ for practice in the right. Frostbite was beautiful and well-made, handling much better than to blunted blade she was used to using. Lyanna took some experimental swings with each sword to compare them. All those months of working, of saving every coin were worth it. Frostbite was slightly big for Lyanna - she needed to use two hands to wield it comfortably - but Mikken assured her that she would grow into it, and in a few years, it would feel like an extension of her arm. Lyanna wrapped the belt around her, feeling how it sat on her hips. She strutted around, wondering if this was how Ser Arthur felt carrying Dawn everywhere. The scabbard was a little long, but it wasn’t uncomfortable to walk around. Lyanna grinned as she swung the sword around, hitting the practice dummy she’d smuggled into her room. Frostbite whistled through the air before cutting through the dummy, spilling straw onto the floor. Ghost sat on a pile of Lyanna’s tunics, red eyes trained on Lyanna’s movements. Lyanna winced inwardly, knowing she’d likely woken the direwolf with her antics. Lyanna stopped for a second and grinned at the direwolf.

“Look, Ghost! I’m gonna be a true knight now. Like Ser Arthur!” She put the sword down tenderly, leaning the hilt on his bed, and picked up Ghost, who protested sleepily. “One day, we’re both gonna be big. I’m not gonna be a bastard and you’re not gonna be a runt. We’re gonna go to Dorne and have adventures. And we’re gonna come back to Winterfell and I’m gonna be a noble knight in shining armor and you’re gonna be a fierce direwolf as big as a horse and everyone’s gonna be amazed.” Ghost yawned, interrupting Lyanna as she ran on. “Sorry. You’re tired, huh?” Ghost licked Lyanna’s face in affirmation. Lyanna kissed Ghost on his forehead and put him on the bed, her arms tired from holding the pup. Ghost had grown a lot since Lyanna had found him, rivaling Robb’s direwolf, Grey Wind, in size. “Who’d have thought you were a runt? You’re gonna be bigger than me soon. Why don’t you take the bed? I don’t think I’m gonna get sleep much tonight.” Ghost gave Lyanna one more look, as if to say _Keep it down, yeah?_ , before burying under the furs. Lyanna picked up Frostbite and trained it on the dummy, practicing new feints and parries until a voice startled her from her efforts.

“Is that the sword Mikken gave you?” Lyanna whirled around to see his Lordly father, Robb, and Arya standing in the doorway. She’d been so focused on her practice that she didn’t even hear them open the door. Robb and Arya stared at Frostbite in disbelief and Ned just leaned on the door frame with a slight smile on his face. Lyanna gulped and sheathed the sword immediately, hoping that Ned wouldn’t take it away.

“I asked Mikken what you were doing after your first day working at the forge,” he continued. “I wondered how long you were going to keep this up. I thought you’d give up after a few days. Instead, you kept working for almost a year. When I told you and your brother that you were too young for your own swords, I expected you to obey my decision.” He held out his had expectantly. Lyanna sighed in defeat and pulled out Frostbite, twirling it around a couple times until its hilt was extended out to her father. Ned held the sword firmly, inspecting it carefully, before carefully sheathing it in the scabbard on Lyanna’s hip. “Clearly, I was wrong. You worked hard for this sword and helped Mikken make it. I’m impressed, and I see no reason why you shouldn’t have it.”

“You told me you had chores!” Robb sounded a little betrayed. “I’m jealous! That’s the nicest sword I’ve ever seen!” Lyanna grinned proudly, pulling Frostbite out and letting Robb hold it.

“I named her Frostbite,” she said as Robb tested its weight. Arya pulled at his arm, eager for her turn. Robb laughed an acquiesced. Arya’s eyes lit up as she pointed Frostbite at the sparring dummy. She held the sword unsteadily in her hands, clearly unused to the weight as she tried to remember the basics Lyanna had shown her in secret. Arya grunted audibly as she swung with all her might, hacking at dummy a couple times before Lyanna took the sword from her, hoping to avoid her dropping it on her foot. Ned yawned audible, signaling to them how late the hour was.

“Robb and Arya wanted to spend the night with you, seeing as all of you are leaving tomorrow. Get some rest, you all have long days tomorrow.” He looked at Ghost, who was trying to sleep. “See? Ghost agrees with me. Goodnight, children.” He planted whiskery kisses on all three children’s heads and walked out of the room, leaving Robb and Arya, who sat on Lyanna’s bed. Lyanna put Frostbite away and lifted a sleeping Ghost up off of the bed, putting him on the pile of tunics on the floor. The three of them huddled close under the furs, making the most of their last night in Winterfell.

“You mean it, about teaching me how to use a sword?” Arya whispered. Lyanna kissed her forehead before pulling her close and whispering in her ear.

“I promise. And I’ll bring you a sword of your own.”

 

 

 

It was bittersweet saying goodbye to Robb and Arya. They parted at the ruins of Moat Cailin; the Starks would continue along the Kingsroad through the Neck and Lyanna and Oberyn would travel East to White Harbor, where the White Knife emptied into the Bite. Sansa seemed pleased to be rid of her and Bran didn’t seem to understand that Lyanna wasn’t returning for a while, but Robb and Arya were loath to let her leave. Robb was somewhat mollified when Lyanna promised to write, but Arya was still despondent. She insisted that she’d make the journey down to Dorne herself unless Lyanna vowed to come back and take her on an adventure. Lyanna laughed and agreed, promising that she’d write as soon as they reached Sunspear.

“Do you regret leaving home?” Oberyn asked as the Starks faded into the distance. Oberyn’s guards were mounted a bit further along. He and Lyanna had paused to say farewell to the Starks. Lyanna was very quiet upon her horse, clearly brooding over leaving home. The weight of what she was doing seemed to finally hit her, and Oberyn knew from experience that the first time leaving home was the roughest. “You’re very close with your siblings. At least to Robb, Arya, and Bran. You’ll miss them.” It wasn’t a question so much as it was a declaration of fact, but Lyanna still considered it carefully.

“I love my family,” she replied. “And I love Winterfell. A part of my heart will always belong there.” Lyanna turned to Oberyn. “But I’ve always wanted to know my mother, and I owe it to her to see where she came from. I always knew that I’d have to leave one day. I don’t want to be the Bastard of Winterfell for the rest of my life. I never wanted to get married. I thought I’d take the Black like Brave Danny Flint or become a sellsword, but this…” she gestured in the direction of Oberyn’s guards. “…this is better. I might as well go somewhere I can actually make something of myself, right?” Oberyn nodded approvingly.

“I too was close to my siblings. More so to Elia than to Doran in my youth, but Doran and I are close now, after losing so many of our family. I left home not knowing if I’d ever return. I missed my family: My brother and sister, my parents and my uncle. But I needed to see more of the world if I wanted to grow past that little boy in Sunspear. My travels and adventures helped make me the man I am today. I still returned to Sunspear, though. It will always be my home.” Oberyn put a hand on Lyanna’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll return to Winterfell, even if, as I suspect, you decide that you prefer Dorne. And you’ll see your brother and sister again, I promise.” Lyanna nodded, tearing her eyes away from her siblings’ disappearing forms. Lyanna closed her eyes and fingered the hilt of Frostbite, forcing her siblings’ sad expressions from her mind. _It’s time for me to be more than the Bastard of Winterfell_

“I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Very well then.” He signaled to his men and they began the next leg of their journey, to White Harbor, where Prince Oberyn’s ship waited to take her to her new life.

 

 

**Robb**

Overall, Robb liked Riverrun. Not as much as he liked Winterfell, of course, but Riverrun was a nice castle in its own right. The confluence of the Red Fork and the Tumblestone looked gorgeous from the towers and Robb was warmer than he’d ever been. Uncle Edmure was charming and fun, showing Robb all of the places he’d played and explored in his youth. Robb got the sense that Edmure always wanted a younger brother, and Robb was more than happy to fill the role. His grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully, was stern and imposing even in his poor health, but seemed proud of Robb. The best part of visiting Riverrun was meeting Ser Brynden Tully, or the Blackfish, as he was known. Robb loved hearing stories about Ser Brynden’s exploits during the War of Ninepenny Kings and Robert’s Rebellion, and he felt proud being related to such a famous knight. Robb also liked not having to go to lessons and spent his time exploring his mother’s former home as she told him what it was like growing up in the Riverlands, back when she was Catelyn Tully, not Catelyn Stark.

The problem, though, came from Lyanna’s first letter, which had arrived yesterday. She’d written to Winterfell first, likely knowing that any letters she sent directly to Riverrun would be thrown out. Robb and Arya did the same in their letters to Winterfell: including letters to Dorne when writing to their father. Lord Stark had forwarded Lyanna’s letter with one of his own, but someone told Lady Stark – likely Sansa – and she hadn’t taken it well. The Tullys were still furious that Lord Stark fathered a bastard so early into his marriage, and they hated that Lyanna was raised with all of Lady Stark’s children. Lady Stark had gotten wind of this letter, but Arya had hidden it, refusing to give it to anyone, even Robb, for fear that they’d burn it. Robb had to physically separate her from Sansa when Arya caught Sansa in her room, looking for the letter, no doubt eager to gain favor with their mother by giving the letter to her. The two were driving everyone insane with their bickering, especially Arya, who hadn’t taken Lyanna’s departure well. She’d always called Lyanna her favorite sibling, and she’d taken to doing so brazenly in front of her mother’s family regardless of how their mother punished her.

Robb had run his eleven-year-old body ragged trying to keep the peace. He strove to make a good impression on the Tullys, and brokered a tentative cease-fire between Sansa and Arya, mostly by agreeing to continue Arya’s secret sword training from where Lyanna had left off if she agreed to behave, or at least sulk quietly. He’d spent a lot of time with Uncle Edmure and Uncle Brynden, which wasn’t that difficult, and with Lord Hoster, which was a complete bore. Lord Hoster tended to ramble about pride and honor, and though Robb enjoyed when his father talked about such things, Lord Hoster had a way of making every topic insufferably dull. Nevertheless, Robb took every effort to be the perfect heir, the perfect son, the perfect nephew, and the perfect grandson. Things seemed to reach some state of normalcy until dinner, where all hell broke loose.

It had all started with a comment about sewing, of all things.

“Sansa, your embroidery is incredible,” Hoster commented as they feasted on a fresh harvest of fish. “You get that from your mother. My Cat was an excellent seamstress.” Sansa accepted the complement with her usual lady-like grace. Arya huffed in more condescension than a seven-year-old should be able to muster, but Robb kept her silent with a sharp look. “Did you know that she sewed five different wedding cloaks?” Lady Stark laughed.

“Don’t laugh. I wanted it to be perfect. It took me several fortnights.” Sansa giggled demurely, likely imagining her own wedding cloak. Robb suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, remembering his manners even if weddings were the last things on his mind. Uncle Edmure, though, didn’t seem to care about that, snorting loudly.

“A pity Lord Stark didn’t care as much,” he grumbled.

“Edmure. Please.” Lady Stark seemed tired of this conversation. Robb agreed, hoping they could talk about something else, but Edmure wasn’t convinced, going on a rant despite the angry looks around him.

“No, Cat. He shamed you not a year into your marriage, then made you share a castle with that damn bastard! I’d have run him through had he not been the father of my nephew.” Edmure was standing, caught up in the moment. “I’m sorry, but that’s unforgivable. Then sitting her next to that Dornish ass? At the head table? Will his disrespect ever end?”

“Edmure, enough. Sit down.” Ser Brynden’s authoritative voice got Edmure’s attention, making him sit down.

“You mentioned a Dornishman?” Hoster Tully asked, intrigued. He ignored Lady Stark staring at her food with a murderous glare.

“Prince Oberyn Martell came all the way from Sunspear for something. Who knows what that man wanted, but it involved the bastard. I tell you, Cat. That girl is nothing but trouble, especially with a Dornish whoremonger encouraging her.”

“What should I do, Edmure? Every time I bring it up to Ned, he refuses to listen.” Lady Stark buried her head in her hands, seething with anger. “In everything else, Ned is the perfect husband: kind, loving, respectful… but when it comes to that _girl_ , he’s made it clear he doesn’t care what I think. What can I do but bear it.”

“Do you know what Prince Oberyn wanted with him” Hoster asked. Robb could tell he was suspicious, and shot Arya a look, as if to say _don’t say anything_. Robb didn’t want to know how they’d react if they found out Lyanna was squiring for a famous knight. It would probably be seen as another insult to House Tully, even if Robb didn’t agree.

Lady Stark just shrugged.

“I imagine he just wanted to see the girl whose mother made the _honorable Eddard Stark_ forget his wife. You know, Ned never told me her name. He _forbade_ me from speaking of it.” Robb hated seeing his mother so dejected, hated that it felt he had to choose between his sister and his mother. “I can’t bring myself to hate Ned, though. I love him too much. But it’s just so infuriating… As far as the Prince…” Lady Stark looked at Lord Hoster. “Who knows. I heard he has five bastard daughters. Obviously not a man I’d trust with my children. He seems like what Theon Greyjoy will become in ten years.” That got a laugh from the table, except for Lord Hoster, who still seemed perturbed. He looked at Robb, Arya, and Sansa.

“Did any of you get a chance to speak to the Prince?” Robb could tell Arya was just itching to speak, so he spoke first, hoping to prevent Arya from putting her foot in her mouth.

“He spoke about taking Lyanna to Dorne. That’s why he came to Winterfell,” Robb responded, trying to keep the details as vague as possible. Edmure wasn’t fooled, though.

“I know that. I was there when they left for White Harbor. I want to know why the _bastard_ when Lord Stark has a true-born son.” He took a swig from his goblet of wine. “Not that I’d let a child of mine squire for the Red Viper, but still. Why does the bastard deserve it?” This time there was no stopping Arya.

“He knew Lyanna’s mother. Said her name was Ashara Dayne, and he’s taking Lyanna to Starfall.” Robb cut her off with a hand over the mouth, but the damage was done. Lady Stark, Ser Brynden, Lord Hoster, and Uncle Edmure started arguing loudly about _bastards_ and _Dornish whores_ , and Robb felt overwhelmed. He led Arya and Sansa away, figuring this wasn’t a conversation for him and not wanting to blow up at everyone. More than anything, he missed Lyanna.

 

Robb, Sansa, and Arya sat under a tree in the Godswood of Riverrun. It wasn’t a weirwood tree, but Robb still found some solace under it, trying to clear his head. He wished he was here with Lyanna, instead of listening to Arya and Sansa bicker for the millionth time. Lyanna would have quietly listened, letting Robb get all of his anger out without interrupting or judging him. Lyanna would have hugged him close and whispered a few comforting words into his ear, telling him that he didn’t have to put all the pressure on himself, that everyone was already proud of him. As Sansa and Arya kept fighting, Robb felt his temper finally boil over.

“SHUT UP! For once in your lives, just SHUT UP!” He screamed at them, silencing them with his fury. Robb didn’t even know he was crying until he tasted the saltiness of tears that had run down his face. Sansa huffed, glaring at both of them.

“One day, you’ll realize that mother was right not to bring that _bastard_ into our homes. We could have been happy if she’d just died of the pox!” Robb had to physically restrain Arya as she lunged for Sansa, seven-year-old eyes blazing in fury. Sansa glared at them before walking back inside.

Arya thrashed around, her bony elbows and knees stinging as she hit Robb’s chest and stomach. Robb gritted his teeth and silently bore the assault, letting Arya vent the anger and frustration they both felt. Eventually, Arya’s settled down, resigning herself to sobbing silently into Robb’s embrace. Robb let the tears flow freely, crying as he hugged Arya close.

“Are we bad people?” Arya asked into Robb’s chest, her voice muffled and cracked.

“Of course not, Arya. Why would you ask that?”

“We let them say such horrible things about Lyanna. Like it’s her fault she’s a bastard. That’s why she left. Because I’m a bad sister.” She started crying again, and Robb hugged her tightly, feeling her tears soak his tunic. Robb wanted to assure her that she wasn’t a bad sister, but her words stuck in his mind, reminding him of what Lyanna had said at dinner their last night together. _Half a family…half a home…half a name…has she always felt this way? Has it always been this bad and I was too blind to see it?_ He looked down at Arya, whose head was still buried in his chest. _No Arya. You didn’t fail her. I did. But I won’t anymore. When she comes back to Winterfell, I’ll make sure she never feels alone again. I’ll make her a true Stark one day. A true Stark like the rest of us._

Arya said something, that cut Robb out of his thoughts. She pulled away and smiled at him before repeating herself.

“Do you want to see Lya’s letter? I have it with me.” Robb’s heart flipped, and he could only nod dumbly. She smiled deviously. “I’ll show it to you, but only if you help me with something. It’s a gift for Lyanna.”

“Of course. What is it?” Arya pulled out a set of parchment tied with twine and a stack of blank pages. One was clearly a letter, but she put that aside and shoved the stack into his hands with a stick of charcoal.

“Lya sent us a drawing of Sunspear, and I want to send her something back. I want to make her a sigil for when she becomes a knight.” Most would have scoffed at a girl becoming a knight, but after the thrashing Lyanna had given him, Robb thought that was a brilliant idea and started thinking.

“Well, the sigil of House Dayne is a white sword crossed by a falling star against a purple background, if I remember correctly.” Robb drew a rough example to show what he meant. He’d looked up the sigil as soon as Prince Oberyn told them who Lyanna’s mother was. “And ours is a grey direwolf on a white background, so Lyanna’s should be a combination of the two, right? Because she’s a Stark and a Dayne.” Arya nodded in agreement before interjecting.

“Ghost is white, though. The direwolf has to be white.”

“This is just a charcoal drawing, though. We’re just making the first draft. We’ll paint a proper one after we have the general idea.” Robb took the first page of parchment and drew a running direwolf, using the one stitched on his tunic as a model. It took him a few tries, but he finally got one he liked. “So we have a wolf. What next?” Arya’s face scrunched up in thought before she came to a realization.

“The wolf should have the sword in its mouth, like it’s going to hit something. I made something similar for Lyanna before she left.”

“And the falling star can cross the sword like in the Dayne crest! It’s perfect!” Robb and Arya began excitedly drafting different versions of this idea, their tears forgotten.

 

 

**Lyanna**

Lyanna could see Sunspear in the over the horizon as Prince Oberyn’s ship, the _Nymeria’s Spear_ approached the harbor. Winterfell was the only castle she’d ever seen, and she expected Sunspear to look similar. However, she couldn’t believe how different the two castles were. Standing defiantly against the snow and winds, Winterfell was tall, cold, and imposing, a castle built to withstand the harshest winters. Winterfell’s towers were sharp and angular, made of cold grey stone. The walls were impenetrable and solemn, holding proudly against all invaders. The Great Hall was vast and imposing, bright with life during a feast but otherwise cold and empty. The castle looked exactly as one would expect from the seat of the solemn House Stark: cold and unyielding.

Sunspear was completely different, as different as was physically possible. Its walls were colorful, tanned by the unyielding sun. The towers, the Spear Tower and the Tower of the Sun, as Oberyn told him, were rounded and smooth, looking defiant and proud. The towers stood on opposite ends of Sunspear and were crowned with gold tops, which shone brilliantly in the sun. They framed a grand palace, the Old Palace, and a grand stone ship, the Sandship, colored a dull brown. Between the structures, smaller buildings and parapets were huddled together, separated onto different levels and separated by winding walls and smooth archways carved from sandstone. While Winterfell seemed cold and desolate from the outside, Sunspear was bursting with life, the city bustling with activity. The harbor was busy, with ships entering and leaving endlessly. Lyanna must have been gawking, because Oberyn laughed behind her.

“Welcome to Sunspear, Lyanna.” Oberyn laughed as the boat docked. “Most people have that reaction. It’s beautiful, no?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it!” Lyanna stood awestruck, staring some more until she felt Ghost nudge her.

“I think your friend is trying to tell you something,” Oberyn chuckled. “Come. We have special guests from Starfall who’re waiting for you.”

“Really? Who?” Lyanna asked as they walked down onto dry land. Lyanna wobbled slightly, having grown accustomed to the rocking of the ship. It’d taken her a week to find his sea-legs, but she’d spent every second after sparring with Prince Oberyn on the deck, something that amused the Prince greatly. _Oh, my daughters are going to love you_ , he declared. Ser Rodrick was a great swordsman, but Prince Oberyn was the best warrior Lyanna had ever seen, twirling with his spear like a dancer.  Lyanna had learned more during the few weeks on the ship than she’d learned in her entire life. Now that the ground beneath his feet was steady, Lyanna looked forward to continuing that training.

“Your uncle, Ali Dayne, the heir to Starfall. He’s here with his son, Edric, his wife, Ira, and his sister, your aunt Allyria. Lord Beric was delayed with some last-minute business, so he’ll greet us at Starfall.” Lyanna looked at him with shock. “What? Didn’t expect them to come?” Lyanna scratched the back of her neck sheepishly.

“I guess I didn’t. It just seems like a long way to go for a-”

“A bastard?” Oberyn completed. Lyanna nodded. Oberyn knelt down, tilting Lyanna’s head to make eye-contact. “You need to understand something, Lyanna. We’re more civilized here in Dorne. No one is going to think less of you because your surname is ‘Snow’. Especially not your family. You’re a Dayne just as much as Edric is, and there’s no reason why your whole family wouldn’t travel here to see you. Remember that, Lyanna.” Lyanna opened his mouth to answer, but her throat felt tight and no words came out. Oberyn smiled knowingly and hugged her tightly. As Lyanna wiped the tears from her eyes, she felt Oberyn whisper in her ear. _“Welcome home, Lyanna”_

 

The first thing Lyanna noticed about Dorne was the heat. As they waited for the Daynes, Lyanna sat next to Ghost, who’d been sluggish ever since they’d landed. Oberyn had laughed, asking what Lyanna had expected, bringing a creature from beyond the Wall to the hottest place in Westeros, but Lyanna was stubborn, adamant that Ghost stay instead of returning to Winterfell. So, as per Oberyn’s suggestion, Lyanna took out her dagger and started clipping Ghost’s fur, trimming it close. The direwolf looked a bit silly with short fur but he looked much more comfortable, running around Lyanna and enjoying his new look.

After Lyanna finished trimming Ghost, Oberyn invited her to continue their sparring. A crowd had gathered in the yard to watch the Prince train his new squire, seemingly unsurprised that he’d decided to train a girl. Oberyn was a show-off by nature, playing to the crowd with flips and twirls. Lyanna almost felt like a spectator herself, staring as Oberyn performed backflips and spun on his toes. Even his spear was gaudy, with tassels and ribbons wrapped near the blade that accentuated the spear’s movement. The whole thing felt less like a duel and more like a dance, a performance for the audience. Lyanna drew Frostbite – Oberyn had long disdained using blunted swords to train – and stood at the other end, sword at the ready.

As Lyanna soon learned, Oberyn’s reputation as a knight was well earned. His spear seemed everywhere, coming at Lyanna from every side and angle. Lyanna would parry a sweep at her legs only to find the blade at her neck, or she’d block the blade and Oberyn would knock her on her ass with the other end. Every exchange would get massive applause from the crowd, and Oberyn would prance around, soaking it in, as if he’d defeated the Dragonknight, and not a small girl. Even Ghost seemed to be having fun, the traitor. After yet another loss, Lyanna heard a new voice cut through the rest.

“It’s frustrating, right?” Lyanna looked up at the speaker. It was a knight, by the look of his armor. He had sandy hair, blue eyes, an easy smile, and a crooked nose that’d had probably been broken a fair few times. He extended his hand and smiled sympathetically. Lyanna took it eagerly. “I’m Ser Daemon Sand. I was Prince Oberyn’s last squire.”

“He’s really good, Ser.” Ser Daemon laughed, looking at Oberyn, who gave Lyanna a break and played to the crowd a bit more.

“Yeah. And he knows it. But there’s no better teacher than defeat. A few years under Oberyn, and you’ll be amazed at the difference.” He drew his sword, a surprisingly chaste design that was longer than Frostbite. “You’re pretty good though. Why don’t you show me what you can do?” Lyanna grabbed his sword and took her position, twirling the sword in her hand. Frostbite was still a little big for her, but nevertheless, Lyanna kept with it, feeling the sword grow lighter every day.

There was no doubt that Ser Daemon earned his knighthood; he wielded the sword with grace, striking hard and true every time. Lyanna had to rely on her instincts to block every attack as Daemon hit her with a flurry of strikes. Ser Daemon took the first three spars handily, but on the fourth, Lyanna kept parrying and blocking, shifting on her feet and strafing Daemon, looking for an opening. She found one when Daemon lunged and Lyanna side-stepped, letting Daemon’s momentum carry him farther than he expected. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Lyanna feinted left, forcing Daemon to twist awkwardly to block and drawing his sword from his left. As soon as the blades touched, Lyanna spun around, bringing Frostbite up to Daemon’s neck. Unfortunately, Daemon’s feet caught on each other, and he fell forwards, catching his cheek on Lyanna’s sword and drawing blood.

“Seven hells!” Lyanna exclaimed. She dropped Frostbite and got to her knees, wiping Ser Daemon’s cheek with her sleeve. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I swear, it was an accident.” Se Daemon laughed, checking the bleeding with his fingers.

“Don’t worry, my friend. Such accidents are to be expected, after all.” He looked over to Oberyn, who was watching with a bemused expression. Lyanna nervously ran a hand through her hair, twisting the inky-black curls in her fingers. Everyone in the courtyard was stunned to silence. Oberyn was standing next to a beautiful young woman with long black ringlets of hair. Her clothing was revealing, showing off her curves and unblemished olive skin. She made eye contact with Lyanna, an eyebrow cocked and a smirk on her soft lips. Lyanna blushed and shifted her gaze to the man next to her. He was dressed in purple and black, with silvery blond hair and sharp, aristocratic features. Even from a distance, his violet eyes were piercing, looking at Lyanna with thinly veiled disgust. There was a black streak in his hair and, Lyanna assumed, several in his heart.

“Prince Oberyn! Well done on finding a squire!” Daemon laughed as Oberyn walked over, spear in hand.

“I just got lucky. Your wins were based on skill. And you were knocking me around for most of it,” Lyanna protested, but Daemon waved her off.

“Is this why you went North? Who is this girl?” Daemon looked into Lyanna’s eyes.

“My name is Lyanna Snow, Ser. My father is Lord Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell.”

“And, I assume, Lady Stark is not your mother?” Daemon asked cheekily, dabbing at the blood on his cheek, which had stopped flowing.

“No. My mother was Lady Ashara Dayne of Starfall, Ser.” Daemon chuckled.

“So that’s why the Daynes are here.” Lyanna helped him to his feet, and he turned to face Oberyn.

“You should have warned me. If I knew I was fighting a Dayne, I wouldn’t have made such an ass out of myself.” Oberyn ruffled Lyanna’s hair affectionately.

“She’s a natural. It’s in her blood. From both sides, if what I hear about her namesake is correct” Lyanna felt her chest swell with pride until she looked at the man and woman who Oberyn had been speaking with. The man stalked over with a sneer on his lips.

“So. You’re Ashara’s bastard?” Lyanna nodded cautiously. Oberyn and Ser Daemon looked at him with suspicion, both men flinching when the man drew his sword. “Come to play at Sword of the Morning, I imagine. Well, let’s see it, then.” Lyanna looked at Prince Oberyn and Ser Daemon, who fingered their weapons anxiously. Lyanna had a bad feeling about this, but, never one to back down from a challenge, readied her sword anyways.

The man struck out viciously, hacking at Lyanna with a frenzy. Lyanna blocked and deflected, quickly losing ground. He was good. Really good. When their swords locked, the knight used his greater strength to push Lyanna’s sword to the side. Lyanna immediately focused on the knight’s sword, readying herself to block his next strike. Instead, the man punched Lyanna in the face with his off hand, knocking Lyanna to the ground and splitting her lip. The taste of iron in her mouth was nauseating, and Lyanna gripped her sword tighter, collecting herself. The man stood above him, silver and black hair waving in the wind. He had a smug expression on his face.

“Not exactly Arthur Dayne, are you,” he sneered. “Here’s a tip, bastard. Know your place.” Lyanna gritted her teeth in frustration. Off to the side, Ser Daemon and Prince Oberyn pulled out their weapons and pointed them at the cruel knight.

“Do you derive much joy in beating a little girl, Ser Gerold?” Someone new intervened, a tall man with pale blonde hair under a hat of tightly wound cloth and a square jaw. He was dressed in the colors of House Dayne. _Lord Ali, I presume_ , Lyanna thought. He crossed his arms, glaring at the man, Ser Gerold, who turned to face him. Lord Ali was accompanied by two women and a young boy around Lyanna’s age. However, it was the beautiful woman who Ser Gerold had spoken to who caught Lyanna’s eye. She smirked at Lyanna, clearly finding her defeat funny. Lyanna’s blood boiled at this lady treating her like a child, especially since she seemed friendly with Ser Gerold, who seemed like a royal asshole.

“I imagine he derives less joy from losing to one, my Lord,” Lyanna said, her mouth running ahead of her head. Lyanna stood up and readied her sword, determined not to fall for the same trick. Ser Gerold smirked, pointing his blade once more at Lyanna. To the side, Ser Gerold’s friend looked at Lyanna. She seemed profoundly unimpressed, and focused more on Ser Gerold, who took the first strike. Lyanna parried to the side, keeping close to Ser Gerold to negate his advantage in reach. Lyanna knew that Ser Gerold vastly outmatched her in skill, and she’d need a miracle to win. Ser Gerold tried the same trick again, striking out with his off hand when Lyanna blocked his sword. Lyanna ducked under Gerold’s sword and bashed Gerold’s fist with the pommel of his sword. Ser Gerold swore loudly, cradling his knuckles, giving Lyanna a chance to step back and catch her breath.

The people around the courtyard started muttering, watching Lyanna and Ser Gerold battle with a high ferocity. It was obvious that Ser Gerold was looking to hurt Lyanna, aiming for her head and chest. Lyanna kept on the move, avoiding most of Ser Gerold’s attacks and crowding him. While Ser Gerold made most of the attacks, Lyanna kept on the defensive, letting Ser Gerold tire himself out.  However, the knight showed no signs of slowing, forcing Lyanna back. When their swords clashed, Lyanna struck out with her dagger, catching Ser Gerold on the knuckles of his sword hand, causing him to drop his sword. Lord Stark and Ser Rodrick would probably call that technique dishonorable, but as Prince Oberyn, Ser Daemon, and Lord Ali laughed loudly at the sound of Ser Gerold’s sword clattering to the ground, Lyanna couldn’t bring herself to care. Lyanna felt a brief sense of pride as she sheathed his sword. She’d gotten lucky again, the slash across the back of Ser Gerold’s hand was more a desperate flail than a calculated attack, but she’d held her own against two of the best knights she’d ever seen.

Lyanna walked over to the others, the blood from her split lip tainting her wide grin and likely making her look like a madwoman to her relatives, when she felt a sharp kick to the back of her knee. She fell to the ground and felt a shove to her shoulder, causing her to taste dirt. Above her, Ser Gerold stalked over to his lady friend, who laughed cruelly. Lyanna immediately decided she hated them both as Ser Daemon and Prince Oberyn helped her to her feet and wiped the dirt and blood her face. The Daynes ran up to Lyanna to make sure she was all right.

“I’m sorry, Lyanna. It’s a shame that the Darkstar is the first Dayne you meet. I promise we’re not all like that,” the younger woman said. “Hi. I’m Allyria. Your mother was my older sister.” She extended her hand and Lyanna shook it eagerly, taking the chance to get a good look at her. Allyria was taller than Lyanna but not by much, and she looked a lot like Lyanna, with long raven locks, pale skin, and violet eyes. If Lyanna’s mother looked at all like Allyria, Lyanna understood why Lord Stark could’ve forgotten his honor for a second. Lord Ali and the other woman, his wife Ira, took the chance to introduce themselves too.

“And this is our son, Edric,” Ali said proudly. Edric shyly stepped out from behind his father and greeted Lyanna.

"Hello! I'm Edric, your cousin. You can call me Ned, though."

“Hi Ned. I’m your cousin Lyanna. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Lyanna shook Edric’s hand warmly, getting a wide smile from the boy.

“Again, I’m really sorry about Ser Gerold,” Ali began. “He’s a disgrace to the family name.”

“Who is he, exactly?” Lyanna asked. “Prince Oberyn never told me about a Gerold Dayne.”

“That’s because he’s a distant cousin of yours,” Oberyn answered. “Gerold Dayne is from House Dayne of High Hermitage, a keep North of Starfall along the Torrentine. Stay away from him, Lyanna. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Someone should tell Arianne that, Prince Oberyn,” Daemon muttered. “Whatever she’s up to, associating with the Darkstar can’t lead anywhere good.”

“Arianne? Is that the woman who was with Ser Gerold?” Lyanna asked. She wasn’t going to forget either of those two anytime soon.

“Princess Arianne Martell,” Oberyn answered. “Doran’s eldest child. She will be the ruling Princess of Dorne one day.” _Great_ , Lyanna thought. _I meet the Princess and she’s worse than Sansa_.

“Anyways,” Ali began, changing the subject. “Welcome to Dorne, Lyanna. I’ve waited a long time to say that. My father, Lord Beric Dayne of Starfall, will be glad to meet you. But first, we’ll go to the Water Gardens to see the Prince Doran and Oberyn’s children.” Lyanna’s shoulders sagged at the thought of more travel, which Ira caught with a laugh.

“Ali, the child’s exhausted. Give her a chance to rest before making her travel more,” Ira admonished her husband. Ali looked apologetic, laughing as Lyanna laid on the floor dramatically and Ghost padded over to her, licking her face until she flailed in protest.

“Your friend agrees with my wife, Lyanna. Very well, then. We’ll relax for the rest of the day and visit Doran tomorrow.” Lyanna got up, dusted himself off, and followed them inside.

 

As they reached their chambers, the topic of conversation turned to Ghost.

“Tell me about your pet,” Ali said, gesturing to Ghost.

“His name is Ghost and he’s a direwolf.” Ali, Ira, and Allyria looked at her in shock, then at the large puppy following Lyanna.

“Are direwolves common pets in the North?” Allyria asked. Lyanna shook his head.

“No. Before Ghost and his littermates, direwolves hadn’t been seen south of the Wall for thousands of years. We found a dead mother direwolf and five pups. There was one for each of the trueborn Stark children.”

“And you?” Oberyn asked.

“I found Ghost away from the rest. He was the runt of the litter, a mute albino that was cast out from the rest. They were going to kill him, said it was the merciful thing to do, but I figured all he needed was a friend. So I took him in and cared for him and look!” Lyanna knelt down and patted Ghost’s shoulders and neck. “He looks great! He just needed someone to believe in him.” Edric walked over and gently pet Ghost on the back, looking in awe of the direwolf.

“How big will he be?” Edric asked.

“We don’t really know. No one’s seen direwolves for thousands of years, so there’s nothing reliable written about them. Maester Lewin wants to write the first book about direwolves, so he asked me to write about how Ghost grows and handles Dorne.”

“How big was his mother?” Ira asked. Lyanna thought for a bit.

“Bigger than a pony, but smaller than a horse. I think Ghost will get even bigger though. He used to be the runt of the litter, but he’s the biggest now. At least, that’s what Maester Lewin thinks.” Suddenly, Lyanna came to a realization. “I promised him and father I’d write as soon as I arrived. Where can I send a letter?” Lyanna asked Oberyn.

“While you’re in Sunspear, this will be your chambers,” Oberyn said, pointing to a room. It was twice as large as her room in Winterfell, and fully furnished with a desk, a full sized bed, and a dresser stocked with clothes. “There’s some paper in your desk. When you’re finished, let me know, and I’ll have it sent to Winterfell. It’ll reach in a fortnight.” Lyanna nodded, going inside and getting to work. In addition to detailing what happened when she reached Sunspear, Lyanna wanted to draw the view of Sunspear from her room. As she started to draw, Lyanna could hear her uncles talk as they retired for the day.

“Now I see why you dropped everything and sailed North, Oberyn. That girl is something else.”

“I know, right? It’s like Ashara is still alive. And when she talks or holds a sword…”

“She looks just like Arthur. She’s destined for great things.”

“Just like her direwolf, right? All she needed was someone who believed in her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just scraped by, but I made the deadline! Honestly, I had the chapter finished for a while, but I've been traveling and I'm super jetlagged. Anyways, expect the next chapter on April 10th.
> 
> For those who are curious, Ali Dayne's hat is called a 'chaparone'. It looks like this - http://www.revivalclothing.com/chaperonehat.aspx
> 
> Next week: Lyanna's new life, seen through letters to Winterfell


	3. Letters from the Palace of Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna's new life in Dorne, as seen through letters to her family in Winterfell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..... This chapter is a few days late. :( I'm so sorry. I had it finished, but wasn't happy with the last letter, and didn't want to upload it until I was satisfied. The next chapter is actually halfway done, so expect it next Friday. I think I'll stick to a Friday upload schedule starting with the next chapter.
> 
> Also, I haven't been responding to the comments. :( I'll be better about doing so in the future. Thanks to everyone leaving comments. I always love hearing feedback!

 

 

**Robb**

Robb received the first of Lyanna’s letters after they arrived in Riverrun. It was only after they’d finished painting the first draft of Lyanna’s sigil that Arya let him open the package. Late at night after everyone who disapproved had gone to bed, he, Arya, and Bran sat around a few candles in Robb’s room as he opened them. He was about to start reading when Sansa opened the door. Arya immediately tried to make her leave, but Robb, not wanting to deal with another loud fight, intervened.

“Sansa can stay, Arya. Lyanna’s her sister too,” Robb admonished.

“Half-sister,” Sansa corrected, mostly on instinct, defeating Robb’s point. Robb sighed in frustration, hoping that Sansa and Arya wouldn’t wake the entire castle with their bickering.

“Anyways,” he continued, shooting Sansa a dirty look. “...Let’s just read Lyanna’s letter, okay? I want to know what Dorne is like.” Sansa and Arya reluctantly agreed. Robb made sure he and Bran were sitting between them. He looked at the direwolves, who were sleeping in the corner. “And keep quiet. The wolves are sleeping.” With that said, he opened the letter and began.

 

_To my family in Winterfell,_

_I’ve reached Sunspear and retired for the rest of the day. We’ll go to the Water Gardens tomorrow to visit the rest of the Martells, but for now, I’m writing from the Old Palace, the main castle of Sunspear. I’m exhausted, but I promised to write, so here it is. My first letter._

_First of all, Sunspear is absolutely incredible. It’s so unlike Winterfell that I can’t believe it. I’ve included a few drawings of Sunspear. One is from the ship as we reached the harbor. The other is from my window. You can see the Spear Tower and the Tower of the Sun from my room and their huge! I hope the drawings do Sunspear justice, because this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen._

_It’s so hot here too! I knew it would be warm, but I didn’t realize it would be this warm! All my clothes are too thick for this weather so Prince Oberyn provided me with a set of new ones. They are all lavender and white. I always thought black was my color, but I like these colors too. Ghost was really hot, so I had to trim him with shears. He’s better now. I think he’s looking forward to seeing the water gardens._

_So, you’re probably wondering about my mother’s family. My grandfather is Lord Beric Dayne. He’s the Lord of Starfall. He’s still in Starfall, so I’ll see him in a fortnight. My uncle, Ali Dayne, is Lord Beric’s oldest son. He’s the heir to Starfall. He always wears these poofy hats! Uncle Ali says all Dayne men wear it except for Ser Arthur, who hated them. Don’t tell anyone, but I agree with Ser Arthur. The hats are silly. My mother, Ashara, was his younger sister. Ser Arthur was his younger brother. Uncle Ali has a wife named Ira and a son named Edric. He is a year older than Sansa, and we call him Ned. Like father! I think you’d get along. Ned is really kind and sweet. He was very shy at first, but now we get along great. I’m always telling him stories about you all. Then there is my Aunt Allyria. She is Uncle Ali’s youngest sibling. Uncle Ali calls her the baby of the family and she sticks her tongue at him. It reminds me of Arya and Bran. There’s also Uncle Oberyn. He’s not actually my uncle, but he told me to call him that. He was very close to my mother._

_My uncles have been telling me about my mother. They say she was fun and full of life. They say she loved to dance. They say she was really beautiful too. Uncle Oberyn tells me that she met father in the Tourney at Harranhall and father was really shy! I didn’t believe it, but he told me that Uncle Brandon had to ask her to dance with father because he was too scared to ask her. I can’t imagine father being shy about anything! Uncle Oberyn didn’t know father that well, but he tells me that father was very different before the rebellion._

_I met one other family member today. His name is Ser Gerold Dayne. He’s a distant cousin from House Dayne of High Hermitage. High Hermitage is a keep north of Starfall. I didn’t like Ser Gerold very much. He’s mean and thinks he’s better than everyone else. I sparred with him and he played dirty. He punched me in the face! Who does that? When I got lucky and disarmed him once, he kicked me in the back. He kept calling me a bastard and telling me I need to learn my place. I thought knights were supposed to be noble, but Ser Gerold is a lousy knight._

_I did meet another knight. Ser Daemon Sand. He’s a bastard, like me, and he squired for Uncle Oberyn too. And he’s a knight! One day I’ll be a knight too. I want to be a knight like Ser Daemon. He’s a good friend and really good with a sword. He defeats me a lot, but he is always helpful about it. I’ve beaten him once or twice, but that was more luck than skill. He’s one of the best swordsmen I’ve ever seen. I’ve learned a lot since leaving Winterfell, and I’ve only been in Dorne for few days! I’m so excited._

_The last person I want to talk about is Princess Arianne Martell. She is Prince Doran’s eldest child and one day, she will be the ruling Princess of Dorne. She’s really pretty and wears the finest dresses. She doesn’t wear a lot, though. Theon would stare at her a lot, and Lady Stark would probably disapprove. I’d send a drawing, but I didn’t get a chance to talk to her. She’s friends with Ser Gerold. If she’s like him, I don’t think we’ll be friends._

_That’s about all I did for today. Ned fell asleep next to Ghost, so I drew a sketch of them together. I put Frostbite with them so you can see how big Ghost is. He’s huge! Tell Grey Wind, Lady, Nymeria, Summer, and whatever you named Rickon’s direwolf that I say hi._

_I miss you all. Write soon,_

_Lyanna Snow_

_P.S. and Ghost. Ghost says hi too. He’d be mad if I didn’t put that it. I think he likes it here. Aunt Ira and Aunt Allyria spoil him rotten. I’m worried he’ll be the fattest direwolf in the seven kingdoms if I don’t do something about it._

As Robb finished, Sansa, Arya, and Bran started whispering loudly.

“I don’t like Ser Gerold. I hope Lya or Prince Oberyn beats him up.”

“Arya! Ser Gerold is a knight! Lyanna should show him more respect. He was just teaching Lyanna a lesson about respecting true-borns. Honestly, do you ever listen to Septa Mordane?”

“Not when she says mean things about Lya!”

“Ser Daemon is nice,” Bran said. Robb silently thanked his little brother, who was wise beyond his years.

“I can’t believe what she said about father, though,” Sansa said bitterly.

“Why,” Arya asked. “I want to know what father was like when he was young. Don’t you?”

“I’m sure father was gallant and true,” Sansa said. “And what about mother? Lyanna acted like father loved her mother more! That’s a lie! How dare she say something like that!”

“That’s not what Lyanna said, Sansa,” Robb said, pulling her close to calm her down. “Anyways, Lyanna sent drawings of Sunspear. Want to see them?” Even Sansa nodded, though she was clearly reluctant. Robb hated how Sansa viewed Lyanna. He kept his frustration to himself, though. There was no need to antagonize her further. Robb passed out the three drawings.

The first was a picture of the entire city from the ship. Lyanna was a surprisingly good artist, and she’d done a great job capturing the vibrancy of Sunspear. Sunspear looked grand and welcoming. The next was a picture of Sunspear from Lyanna’s window. Lyanna was actually pretty high up, and you could see all the way to the harbor. Off to the side was the Sandship. Arya and Bran argued over whether it was an actual ship, or whether it was a stone building made to look like one. Robb resolved to ask Lyanna when they wrote back. The last one was of Ghost and Lyanna’s cousin, Ned. Ned Dayne looked young and innocent, and Robb couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that Lyanna had found a new friend so fast. Arya said that Ned would never replace them, and Robb hoped that she was right.

“So,” he said as Bran started to fall asleep. “we need to write her back tomorrow. We should put some drawings too. Lyanna wanted to see what the Riverlands looks like.”

“And we need to send her the sigil we made,” Arya reminded him.

“That too. We’ll work on that tomorrow.”

 

 

The next letter Lyanna sent arrived after they got back to Winterfell. Mother had been worried about Rickon, but the baby seemed to be healthier than ever. Robb was proud; his baby brother was already a proper Northron man. Life was good overall. Mother and Father never seemed to fight anymore, and Theon had come back telling stories about the ships and sailors he’d seen in White Harbor. Robb was happy that Theon didn’t spend the entire time they’d been away sulking. After they broke their fast, Father spoke up.

“Remember, tomorrow is Robb’s nameday,” he smiled affectionately. “It’s hard to believe, but Robb is almost a man grown. I’m proud of you, son.” Robb grinned, wondering what could make this any better. “I have a letter from Dorne, too. You can read it after you finish eating,” he whispered in Robb’s ear. Robb stuffed his mouth, trying to finish as fast as possible. Father laughed and handed him the letter. Immediately, Robb, Sansa, Arya, and Bran ran out to the courtyard to read the news from Lyanna. Theon pretended like he didn’t care, but Robb caught him walking out, curious as to what Lyanna had to say now. Robb waited until they were all settled before opening the letter and starting to read.

 

_To my family in Winterfell,_

_First of all, happy nameday, Robb! I wish I was there to wish you in person. You’re two-and-ten now, old man!_

_I’m writing this from Starfall. It’s amazing. I thought Sunspear was beautiful, but Starfall feels like a dream. The castle sits on the mouth of the Torrentine, a massive river that runs through the West of Dorne, between Dorne and the Reach. The city proper extends to both sides of the banks of the Torrentine, but the main palace sits on an island right where the Torrentine empties into the Summer Sea. Grandfather calls the bay where the Torrentine ends the Starry Bay._

_Starfall is beautiful during the daytime, but at night, it’s incredible. When all the lights go out, you can see millions of stars and the night sky has a soft glow of blue and green and red and purple. Uncle Ali likes to sit Edric and me down on the Palestone Sword, the largest tower, and point out every star. He knows all their names! I tried to include a drawing of the night sky, but you really need to see it for yourself. Every night is different because of how the stars and the moon reflect off of the water. The best is during the new moon, when the moon disappears, and the stars fall from the sky and burn up before they hit the ground, leaving streaks in all the colors of the rainbow. During the new moon the sky is filled with what Grandfather calls the Southern Aurora. The sky is filled with different colored ribbons of lights that move and bend. The seaweed also glows green and blue when it washes ashore every night. It’s magical._

_I’m guessing you want me to talk about Dawn now, so I’ll do that._

_According to legend, the founder of House Dayne tracked a falling star and build Starfall where it landed. In the center of the star, he found a mysterious ore. He sailed to Valyria to ask the Dragonlords to forge the star into a sword. They made it like Valyrian steel, but it’s different from Valyrian steel because of the material it’s made of. Before you ask, I haven’t seen Dawn’s blade. It remains sheathed in the hands of a statue of the Sword of the Morning in the center of Starfall’s courtyard. Grandfather says that Dawn is pale white and shines in the light. He says that Dawn has ripples like Ice and other Valyrian steel swords, but the ripples swirl in spirals and move in the light. I can’t wait to see it one day. We learned that Dawn is a greatsword like Ice, but it’s smaller, halfway between a greatsword and a longsword. Grandfather says this is because it’s actually meant for battle, while Ice is mostly ceremonial. There are seven knights sworn to House Dayne whose job it is to guard Dawn with their lives. It’s like the Kingsguard, but for Dawn! Uncle Ali says it is very hard to be one of those knights. I told him I want to do that, to guard Dawn until someone becomes the Sword of the Morning. Uncle Ali laughed at that. He told me Ser Arthur used to say the same thing._

_I don’t know what it takes to be the Sword of the Morning, though. It’s a secret that not even Uncle Ali knows. He tells me a lot about Ser Arthur, though. He says Ser Arthur was brave and noble, but also that he was humble. He didn’t like when people praised him. It only made him want to work harder. He used to get up at dawn to train, and Uncle Ali says no one could best him. Uncle Oberyn says he was boring and didn’t like to have fun. Uncle Oberyn also says that Ser Arthur would kick his butt in the sparring yard whenever he said that. Apparently, Ser Arthur was knighted at five-and-ten like Ser Jaime Lannister. When he was seven-and-ten, he passed the trials of the Sword of the Morning and wielded Dawn! I asked Uncle Ali if Edric would ever be the Sword of the Morning, but Uncle Ali said no. He said that the trial is so dangerous that no father would give his son leave to do it. Grandfather didn’t even want Ser Arthur to try, and Ser Arthur was the best! Whatever the trial is, it must be dangerous. Uncle Ali says hundreds of Daynes have tried and only four passed. Ser Davos Dayne, Ser Joffrey Dayne, Ser Ulrick Dayne, and Ser Arthur Dayne. No one else survived._

_Anyways, I haven’t described Grandfather yet. He’s a tall man with long white hair and a thick beard. He also wears one of those chaparones, which I still think is silly. Grandfather is gruff and stern, but he’s a lot like father. He smiles a lot in private when he’s with his children and grandchildren, and he was really happy to see me. He’s kind of old, but he’s still a great swordsman. I sparred against him when he and Uncle Ali took a break from holding court, and I didn’t stand a chance. I’ve still been squiring for Uncle Oberyn, and he’s crazy. He made me stand on one foot and block his spear. Then, he’d make me run up and down the stairs with cups of water in my hands! He has a friend, Qarro Volentin, who fights with a style called Water Dancing. Master Qarro trained under someone named Syrio Forel, the First Sword of Braavos. I don’t know what that means, but all I know is Master Qarro is really elegant when he fights. He didn’t want to teach me water dancing at first. He said my sword was too heavy, but then Uncle Oberyn said something about me getting stronger in time and he agreed to train me. It’s mostly footwork and balance. Master Qarro even makes me do flips like Uncle Oberyn does. It’s crazy and hard, but I’ll get it down eventually. Every time I complain, Uncle Oberyn tells me that Ser Arthur went through the same thing and didn’t whinge. I think he might be tricking me, but I don’t want to take the risk._

_Before we got to Starfall, we went to the Water Gardens to visit Prince Doran and the rest of the Martells. Prince Doran is a quiet man. He gets ill often and stays in the Water Gardens more than in Sunspear, but he’s also really smart. He told me to call him Uncle Doran too. It feels like I meet new family every day. I like talking to him. Uncle Doran tells me stories of Sunspear and House Martell. He also taught me how to play Cyvasse, and now I try to play every chance I get. I’ll beat him one day. I’ll beat Uncle Doran at Cyvasse and I’ll beat Uncle Oberyn in the sparring yard._

_I also met Uncle Doran’s wife, Mellario of Norvos. She’s from across the Narrow Sea, and she and Uncle Doran fell in love and married. Sansa would love seeing them together. Mellario came from Norvos with Areo Hotah, the captain of the guards for the Martells. He’s huge and great with an axe. They have three children. Arianne, Quentyn, and Trystane. I met Arianne again. She wasn’t with the Darkstar, but she was still kind of mean. She thinks she’s better than everyone else. She also thinks she’s prettier than everyone else, and she is right about that, but it’s still annoying. Even worse is that Ghost is in love with her, the traitor. Quentyn is okay, but he’s really quiet. I got the sense that he didn’t find me very interesting. Trystane is the youngest, about as old as Arya. He’s the best Martell. He’s fun and likes to play in the water._

_Then I met Uncle Oberyn’s family. He has five daughters: Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, Sarella, and Elia. Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, and Sarella are all older than me, and they like teasing me a lot. They all like fighting in some way too. Obara uses a spear like her father. Nymeria, or Lady Nym, as we call her, uses daggers. Sarella uses a sword like me and Tyene uses poisons, so I steer clear of her. Uncle Oberyn has a paramour named Ellaria Sand. She’s very affectionate and loves Oberyn’s daughters like they are her own. I like her very much. They aren’t married, but they do seem to love each other. I know Septa Mordane would disapprove, but Uncle Oberyn and Ellaria are happy together, so what does she know?_

_The Water Gardens are lush and full of life. I understand why Uncle Doran likes this place so much. I’ve included a drawing of Princess Arianne by one of the pools._

_I got the sigil you made for me. It’s incredible. I can’t begin to tell you how much it meant. I made Robb one too for his nameday. It’s not as good as the one you made for me, but I worked hard on it. I have new respect for Sansa. Stitching is very hard. Aunt Ellaria had to help me._

_Thank you for writing about Riverrun. Your mother’s home sounds very beautiful. It must’ve been very difficult to build a castle in the middle of a river. The Tullys have my respect._

_Ghost says hi too. He seems to like it here. It seems like Ghost gets bigger every day. My uncles don’t believe that he was the runt of the litter. I can’t believe it either sometimes. He likes swimming in the fish ponds. His new favorite food is squid, and when we go to the market, I always buy him some. You should see if the other direwolves like squid too._

_Love you all,_

_Lyanna Snow_

_P.S. The words of House Dayne are “Dawn Brings Light”. This is really cool._

_P.P.S. Tell Bran he was right. The Sandship isn’t actually a ship. It used to be the main castle before Queen Nymeria conquered Dorne. Did you know that the only part of Dorne she couldn’t conquer by force was the Torrentine? The King of the Torrentine, Voren Dayne, told her he’d kneel if she beat his son, Ser Davos, in single combat. She lost, and she married Ser Davos in order to get the Daynes to swear allegiance to her after Voren died._

 

Robb finished reading and pulled out the rest of the papers in the package. He pulled out the sigil Lyanna made for him. It had a grey wolf leaping over a field of red and blue stripes, like the one on the Tully sigil. It was perfectly hand stitched. Lyanna must’ve worked really hard on this, and Robb felt his eyes start to tear up.

“Starfall seems nice,” Arya said, looking at the sketches Lyanna had included. “It sounds like the songs Sansa likes.”

“She’s obviously exaggerating, Arya,” Sansa chided. “You can’t believe everything she says.” Robb rolled his eyes; his sisters argued over everything. If Robb was on fire, they’d bicker over who had to douse the flames.

“Why would Lyanna lie?” Arya asked incredulously. “Lyanna never lies. She’s honest like Father.” Robb had to agree. Of all of Ned Stark’s children, Lyanna Snow most resembled him, both in solemnity and integrity. However, Lyanna was a bastard, and Robb knew what assumptions people would make about her. _Bastards are lustful creatures, born of sin. They are envious by nature, eager to usurp their trueborn siblings._

“Lyanna gets jealous,” Sansa said, referencing their mother’s lessons. Catelyn Stark and Septa Mordane took great pains to remind the Stark children about their noble birth and the gulf between theirs and Lyanna’s status, a lesson only Sansa had fully taken to heart. “Lyanna’s mother was from a lesser house in Dorne,” she continued. “Our mother is from House Tully, a Great House. Lyanna’s grandfather is a minor lord, and our grandfather is the Lord of all the Riverlands. Even on her mother’s side, Lyanna will never be our equal, and she knows it. That’s why she’s trying to make Starfall sound better than Riverrun.”

“I heard that Ashara Dayne jumped off of a tower after Lyanna was born,” Theon added. “I’m surprised they even let the bastard into the castle.” Theon finished with a sneer, one that rubbed Robb the wrong way. Robb wanted to defend Lyanna, but like always,he didn’t know how to do so without alienating Sansa or Theon. Arya had no such reservations jumping to her feet and raising her voice.

“You’re all liars!” she shouted, glaring at Sansa. “And I would rather be Lya’s sister than yours!” She stormed off in a huff, carrying Lyanna’s letter and one of her drawings, the one of Starfall from the top of the Palestone Sword.

“Must you always fight?” Robb implored Sansa. “Lyanna’s our sister too, and we should be happy for her.” Theon looked at him sideways, as if he had three heads.

“She’s our _half-sister_ ,” Sansa reminded him, “and Arya acts like she’d rather be a bastard than a true-born! How is Mother to feel when Arya likes that _whore_ more than her?” Robb flinched, hearing more venom than he’d been used to from his little sister.

“Don’t call Lya’s mother that,” he protested weakly. He looked at Bran, who despite his youth was smart enough to avoid the conversation altogether.

“Why not?” Sansa pushed, sensing Robb’s weakness. “That’s what she is. She dishonored our mother and killed herself out of shame! That’s all Lyanna is. Shame. She has no business writing to us, let alone thinking she belongs in our home.” Sansa went for the jugular with that last invective, and Robb was too stunned to say anything in response.

“She has a point, Stark,” Theon added. “Whether at the Wall or in Dorne, Snow was going to leave at some point. Let her stay with the other Dornish bastards. You have better company anyways. I hear some of the Northern lords are asking Lord Stark to foster their sons here.”

“See, Robb?” Sansa asked. “Forget the bastard. There are better friends for you.” Robb looked down at the sketch in his hands, a drawing of a beautiful girl sitting on the edge of a pool, her toes dipping in the water. Ghost, who seemed to be the size of a bloodhound, was curled up next to her. Lyanna had clearly put a good deal of effort into the drawing, and Robb felt guilt curl in his gut for even listening to Theon and Sansa insult her. They didn’t know what they were talking about. Lyanna was his best friend, but Robb still knew that he and Lyanna had dramatically different futures ahead of them. _It doesn’t matter. Lyanna will always be my best friend_ , Robb thought to himself.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his tone chastising He picked up Bran to take him inside. “Lyanna’s my sister and my friend. No matter what, she’ll always be welcome here.” With that, he walked away, leaving Sansa and Theon, who were greatly uncomfortable being on the same side of anything.

 

The third letter came a moon’s turn before Lyanna’s nameday. Lord Stark hadn’t said anything about fostering anyone else in Winterfell, but Robb saw him sending more letters than usual to Karhold, Last Hearth, the Dreadfort, Bear Island, and White Harbor. The letter to the Dreadfort surprised everyone, but Ned just insisted he was doing his duty as Warden of the North. Robb had mixed feelings about all of this fostering talk. He couldn’t deny that he was excited at the thought of more friends in Winterfell, but he was worried that he and Lyanna would drift apart when they found other people. While Theon still insisted that Robb would forget about Lyanna as soon as more boys came to stay in Winterfell, Robb refused to believe him.

After all, he and Lyanna were together far before Sansa or Theon came into his life. Lyanna was his first friend and practically his twin. They did everything together, from lessons to swordplay to riding. Robb always figured that Lyanna would stay in Winterfell, or at least marry into a vassal house. She was supposed to help him when he became Lord of Winterfell, not leave the North altogether. He missed her calming presence, the way she always seemed to know what he was thinking. He was always his best when she was there to help him, and they were _supposed_ to rule the North together. Catelyn had worried that she’d be a Northern Daemon Blackfyre, but Robb always figured that Lyanna was the Brandon Snow to his Torrhen Stark, or the Bloodraven to his Daeron the Good. If anything, _he_ was Daemon Blackfyre and Lyanna was his Bittersteel, loyal till the end. They’d always had a subconscious link, one that Robb hoped wouldn’t weaken over distance.

Maybe, then, it was fate that sent Ned to Robb’s room late one night just as Robb was brooding over Lyanna’s absence.

“What’s wrong, Robb?” Ned asked worriedly. Robb sat up and brushed his messy hear – he was overdue for a haircut.

“Nothing, father,” Robb answered, avoiding his father’s gaze. Ned chuckled and sat down next to him.

“You were never a good liar,” he said, pulling his son close. “You get that from me, I’m afraid. So, what’s wrong?”

“It’s Lya. I miss her. Is that wrong?” Robb answered honestly. Ned frowned.

“Why would that be wrong? Your sister and best friend left home. Of course, you’d miss her.”

“It’s just… She’s happy in Dorne. She loves her family, both the Daynes and the Martells – ok not _all_ the Martells. But she likes Starfall and Sunspear a lot. What if she doesn’t want to come back? What if she likes her new family and her new friends more than me? I know I should be happy for her, and I am, but I just wish she’d come home.” Ned laughed, earning a pout from Robb.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “You just remind me of your uncle Benjen when I was fostered in the Eyrie.” Robb had forgotten that his father was also fostered South. “Jon Arryn was like a father to me, and Robert Baratheon like a brother, so much so that I named a certain little baby after him,” Ned said cheekily, pinking Robb’s cheeks. Robb tried to shake free but was privately pleased by the affection. “Even still, I remembered my roots and my family, and I came home. Lya will too.”

“You think so?” Robb asked, his voice smaller than he’d have liked.

“I know so. You’re a good brother, and I’m so happy that you two have become so close. When you were young the two of you would walk everywhere together. I remember when you even tried to marry her when you were five,” Ned joked. Robb reddened; that was possibly his most embarrassing memory. After hearing his father describe a Northern wedding, Robb dragged Lyanna in front of the Heart Tree and asked her to marry him. Lyanna told him she’d only marry him if he could catch her and ran off. After failing for hours, Robb realized that this was the longest he and Lyanna had been apart and started bawling, running to his mother and father to complain. Catelyn didn’t find it very funny, but even seven years later, Ned laughed when he remembered Robb’s tears and Lyanna’s insistence that Robb would just have to marry someone slower.

“Please don’t remind me,” Robb grumbled. “The last thing I need is Theon learning about the time I ran crying to my parents because my sister wouldn’t marry me.” He couldn’t keep the smile from his face, though. Robb guessed that he wouldn’t be the last person to start crying because Lyanna Snow wouldn’t marry them.

“I wouldn’t show him Lyanna’s latest letter, then,” Ned laughed, pushing a small stack of papers into Robb’s hands. Robb’s eyes widened with excitement. “I was about to sleep when Maester Lewin told me a messenger had come from Dorne. I was just excited as you.”

“I need to wake up Arya and Bran,” Robb mumbled. Even the Gods wouldn’t be able to save him if he kept Lyanna’s letter from Arya. Bran would probably forgive him, but Arya would bite off his ear or something.

“Normally I’d tell you to let them sleep, but Arya misses Lya as much as you, and even I’m not brave enough to keep this letter from her,” Ned said, perfectly understanding as always. Robb wondered how his father became so wise. “Let’s go wake them. We won’t stay up too late, though. I won’t have you sleeping during your lessons.” Robb nodded before bolting from his room.

 

Bran was easy to wake; when Robb showed him the letter, Bran thanked him and Ned politely. When they woke Arya, she punched Robb for waking her. When she saw the letter, she punched him again for waiting so long to wake her. Robb rubbed his arm mutinously, but nevertheless opened the letter and began to read, while Ned gathered Bran and Arya into his arms.

 

_To my family in Winterfell,_

_This letter might be a bit short because I don’t have a lot of time on my hands, but I haven’t written in a while and I have some free time, so here I am. I’m back in Sunspear right now. Uncle Oberyn keeps pushing me during sparring. I’ve never had so many bruises! But I’m getting better every day. I even beat Uncle Oberyn once! It was only the once though, and I only won because Lady Nym threw a blood orange at him. Even still, I won! I’ll beat him again soon enough. I know it. Beware, Robb Stark, the next time we meet, you won’t stand a chance!_

_Other than that, I’ve been spending time with Uncle Doran and Auntie Mellario. Uncle Doran even let me sit in when he held meetings with his council. He made me dress up for it, and I’ve never had such a nice dress! It was lavender and silver with stars and swords on it. Before you ask, I do have one with the sigil you made for me on it. I haven’t forgotten my roots. I’m still a Northerner. Anyways, Dornish court is very strange. Uncle Doran says there is a lot of politics and scandal at court. It’s very different from court in Winterfell. It’s a lot simpler in the North. Uncle Doran agrees with that. He says he’s always thankful for House Dayne because it’s sometimes the only house that cares about honor and duty. He said this and then looked at Uncle Oberyn. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but he really enjoys teasing people, though sometimes it feels like you have to be as smart as him in order to understand that he’s teasing you._

_Oh, I’m going to a Dornish wedding soon! It’ll be the first wedding I’ve ever been to. Well, other than that time you tried to marry me, Robb. Just so you know, I still won’t marry you. Mostly because you’re my brother and we are not Targaryens, but also because you’re still too slow! I could never marry someone slower than me. Also, I’m better at swords than you. I’m going to be like Queen Nymeria. If you want to marry me, you have to beat me in single combat like Davos Dayne did to Nymeria. I guess those conditions mean you’ll never get to marry me, Robb. Try not to cry too much about that! But that’s not the only condition, of course. Otherwise, I’d have to marry Uncle Oberyn, and he’s too old! Or worse, I’d have to marry the Darkstar, and he’s still a jerk. I actually did get a couple marriage proposals! Well, my Grandfather did. Some lords asked him if I’d marry their sons. He said no, of course. He said I was too young to be betrothed. Also, he said anyone who wanted to marry me needed my permission, not his. I liked that at first, but now boys keep asking me to marry them. I always say no. Marriage is for old people. And little Robb, of course!_

_Speaking of riding, I go riding every day after training in the morning. The Dornish sand steeds are amazing. They’re so fast! And they can run forever without tiring. I’m a pretty fast rider, and Elia and I race every chance we get. Elia is also great with the lance, so we practice that too. Maybe I’ll ride in some tourneys when I’m older! Uncle Oberyn tells me I ride like a Dothraki, which is a compliment, I think. It’s hard to shoot arrows from horseback, though. I’m practicing, but it feels completely different from shooting standing still. I’ll get better at it, though. Theon was a better archer than me before I left, and that’s unacceptable._

_There’s another way to ride across the sands. The Dornish have small boats with sails that they take across the desert during sandstorms. When the winds pick up, you can sail across the sand! It’s so much fun! Honestly, it’s even better than riding horses. Uncle Doran says that in his youth he would ride from one end of Dorne to another this way. The first time I tried it, I kept losing my grip and falling off. Ghost never had a problem hanging on, though. You can only go sand-sailing when the winds are right, which happens every other day. On a good day, we can go sand-sailing for hours._

_So, my nameday is coming up soon! I’m excited. Soon, I’ll be as old as Robb again! You’re not the only one who’s getting old, Robb. Soon we’ll be needing canes! My Aunts, Uncles, and Grandfather all say they have surprises waiting for me, but I can’t think of anything I really want, though more letters from all of you would always be great._

_Now, you probably need an update on Ghost. HE’S SO BIG! Uncle Doran commissioned small portrait of me and Ghost to send back to Winterfell, so you can see how big he is. He’s larger than the bloodhounds we use when we go hunting. It feels like he’s growing faster than me. I started taking him running and swimming every day because he was starting to get fat. It was ok when he was a baby, but Ghost isn’t a baby anymore. He’s not allowed to be plump and cute anymore. Now, he needs to be beautiful and fearsome._

_The next time I write, I’ll be twelve! I’ll tell you about the wedding too. It’s in Yronwood, and we don’t know why we were invited. Uncle Ali doesn’t know Anders Yronwood very well, but he seemed to be very insistent that we attend. His daughter Ynys is the one getting married. She’s marrying Ser Daemon’s father! His name is Ryon Allyrion, and he’s the heir to Godsgrace. In case you’re wondering, Ynys Yronwood was to be the heir to Yronwood, so that’s why the wedding is there. Ser Daemon is very excited to see his father for the wedding._

_Love you all,_

_Lyanna Snow_

_P.S. I’ve included a portrait of myself and Ghost. You’ll notice my hair color is a bit different. Strangely enough, that’s it’s natural color. I used to cut the ends off to get rid of the silver part, but that never worked. The new ends would just turn silver over the course of a fortnight. I had to dye the ends with pitch to match the rest of my hair so that no one would tease me for having grey hair. Apparently, it’s silver, not grey. Uncle Ali and Edric have completely silver hair too, and Grandfather had silver hair before he actually went grey. I might still dye it, though. I think it looks silly. What do you think?_

“Gross, Robb,” Arya said as soon as Robb finished reading. “How could you marry Lya?! She’s our sister!” Robb felt his ears redden. His little sister shouldn’t be able to embarrass him this much.

“I didn’t marry Lya,” Robb protested. “She said no,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Aye, and she says you cried.” Arya turned to Ned. “Is it true, father? Did Robb cry when Lya wouldn’t marry him?” Robb looked at his father, eyes pleading for him to lie. Robb should’ve known it was futile.

“He did indeed,” Ned said, eyes twinkling. “I’ve never seen Robb so distraught.”

“Hey, I was five,” Robb grumbled, but Arya ignored him, laughing uncontrollably. Robb tried to scowl but couldn’t help but join in the laughter. Trust Lyanna to raise his spirits even from thousands of miles away.

Robb took a look at the portrait Lyanna had sent. She wore a beautiful lavender dress with the Dayne sigil on the front. The painter had perfectly captured the nuances of her eyes, how the light would bring out lavenders and indigos and hazels and blues. Her hair was slightly more done-up than she normally wore it, the curls tied into elaborate braids and ringlets before falling past her shoulders. What surprised Robb most, though, was the _color_ – or rather _colors_ – of her hair. It was mostly the typical inky black color, but the last third of so of each lock was a silvery blond color, making the tips of her curls look like clouds. It was a striking contrast, one that Robb almost couldn’t believe was real. There were purple roses woven in her hair. She seemed slightly less pale than normal, but Robb had a feeling she wasn’t going to suddenly sport the olive skin of the Dornish like Prince Oberyn. Lyanna had a small smile on her face, as if she was amused by something just behind the painter. She had one hand on her hip and the other on Ghost, who was sitting right next to her. Lyanna was right; Ghost had grown a lot since Lyanna had left Winterfell. The direwolf’s head reached Lyanna’s hip. Ghost seemed to lean in affectionately into Lyanna’s leg. What surprised Robb most of all was Lyanna’s expression. Robb was used to her brooding and frowning, not this new confidence. He knew that his sister was pretty, but this portrait made her seem more beautiful than he remembered.

“If Lya marries Robb, she has to come home, right?” Bran asked. Ned’s eyes bugged out at the question.

“Oh yeah!” Arya exclaimed. She turned to Robb, who snorted loudly. “Robb, you should marry Lya!”

“Arya! Robb’s not marrying Lya!” Ned chastised. Arya pouted and grumbled under her breath. Ned shook his head and chuckled to himself. “It’s too late for this. I let you three stay up so you could read Lya’s letter, but I’m tired, so off to bed with you.” Robb looked at Bran, who was starting to doze off. Arya stubbornly tried to stay awake, but she also started to nod off.

“Of course, father,” Robb said respectfully. He got up and walked back to his room, smiling at his little sister, who clutched the portrait tightly in her hand.

 

The next letter came a fortnight after Lyanna’s nameday. As a gift, Robb, Arya, and Bran had sent her some potted winter roses and a weirwood sapling to plant in Starfall’s garden. Robb had hoped Sansa would help – especially since Lya’s last letter had included an early present for Sansa just in case she didn’t have time to send it later – but Sansa was adamant in her dismissal of Lyanna. Robb even saw her throw away Lyanna’s gift, a finely sewn blue dress with a grey direwolf stitched on the side. Robb had saved the dress, hoping that Arya would like it. The dress was obviously high quality, and Robb knew that Lyanna would’ve been heartbroken to learn how little Sansa cared for it.

Lord Stark’s big announcement, so big that he summoned his bannermen to Winterfell, was that he was going to be fostering Domeric Bolton, the heir to the Dreadfort, and Torrhen Karstark, the second son of Rickard Karstark. Furthermore, he announced construction and restoration of several Northern castles, from Moat Cailin to a port at Sea Dragon’s Point to several keeps like Queenscrown in the New Gift. Ned would give these keeps to his bannermen’s second sons. The savings for these plans had started under Lord Stark’s father, Rickard Stark, and the Northern Lords were excited for the fruits of their austere living.

Robb was too young to care about the power dynamics of starting new houses or the finances involved with restoring a dozen castles, but he could understand fostering two of his bannermen’s sons in Winterfell. They would be _his_ bannermen one day, after all. Theon was excited to have more boys his age, as both Domeric and Torrhen were older than Robb. Robb found it hard to share his excitement. More friends in Winterfell would be nice, but no one would replace Lyanna in his heart. Sure enough, right when he felt the loneliest, his father gave him Lyanna’s next letter.

Without hesitation, Robb opened the letter and started reading.

 

_Dear Starks,_

_This letter won’t be very long, because I don’t have a lot of time. Sorry! I’ll make it up to you, I promise._

_First, I want to talk about the wedding in Yronwood. It was a very festive occasion. There was lots of dancing. Don’t laugh, but I’ve been practicing my dancing, and I danced with everyone at the wedding. Of course, I danced with Uncle Oberyn, Uncle Ali, Ned, and Ser Daemon. I also danced with Prince Quentyn Martell, who wasn’t very good. He’s a prince like Uncle Oberyn, though, so I was very respectful. I found out one of the reasons why we were invited, though. Cletus Yronwood wanted to marry me. Why does everyone want to marry me! Boys are dumb. I don’t know how Sansa handles it._

_The other thing I want to talk about is my nameday. I’m twelve! I got a lot of gifts too. Your gift was great. As soon as I got the flowers, I took them to a shady part of Starfall’s gardens. I put the weirwood sapling next to the winter roses. Thank you so much! Every time I miss home, I go to the gardens. It’s nice to have a piece of Winterfell here with me. Uncle Ali showed me a grand harp, which he gave to me. It’s as big as father and sounds beautiful. Uncle Ali says only Grandfather and I are any good with it. I’ve been practicing my singing too. I'm not as good as Sansa or your Lady Mother, but I'm getting better._

_Uncle Oberyn gave me a horse, a white sand steed I named Silverwing, after Good Queen Alysanne’s dragon. Silverwing isn’t actually very old. Uncle Oberyn wants me to raise Silverwing myself so that he’s used to Ghost and doesn't scare around him. Ghost is getting big enough to frighten some of the other horses! Anyways, I’ve learned how to saddle a horse, so I take Silverwing out every day to get used to him. He’s going to be a great stallion one day. I know it._

_The last gift was from Grandfather. It was a set of books, four of the most precious from Starfall’s grand library. I know that you’re probably bored just reading this, but I swear these books are worth it. They’re swordfighting books! Rare ones too. Grandfather says not many copies of these books exist. The titles are The Swordsmanship of the Falconknights, Hunters of the Reach: The Bows and Swords of Hornhill and Highgarden, Advanced Techniques of Ser Ulrick Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, and Dragonblade Dueling. The books have drawings of advanced swordfighting techniques from everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms. The last one is a copy of a book from Old Valyria! It’s written in High Valyrian, but Uncle Oberyn speaks High Valyrian from his travels in Essos. He’s been teaching me. I can read a few chapters of Dragonblade Dueling, and I ask Uncle Oberyn for help with the rest. I’m still working through the first one, though. All the Vale knights must be really good if they can do all these feints and parries! I can barely get through the basics and the first few chapters of intermediate binds and clashes. Your cousin is Robert Arryn of the Eyrie, right? I bet he’s a master swordsman if he’s learning from Falconknights!_

_All the books have been edited. Someone wrote on them with a quill and ink some time in the past. Grandfather doesn’t know when. At first, I was angry at how someone could deface such rare books, but then I looked closer. All the edits are by someone named ‘Blackwaters’, and they are improvements over most of the original techniques. He changes lots of the grips and movements to make the slices and thrusts better and writes some new scenarios where they would be useful. This Blackwaters man has edited seven such books, according to a note he left on the back of 'Falconknights'. I have four of them now, and I wonder what the other three are! I also wonder who he is. If he was this good a swordsman, I bet he must have been very famous. I know we would’ve heard of him! I’m writing all the clues in my journal, and I’ll send a copy of the list to you when I get the chance. We can figure it out together! My guess, of course, is Ser Arthur. Tell me who you think it is!_

_Anyways, it was a great nameday._

_The last thing I’ll talk about is Ghost. Uncle Ali picked me up with one arm and Ghost with the other (he’s really strong) and he says I’m still heavier, but not by much. Soon Ghost will be bigger than me!_

_I loved the portrait you sent me of all of you. Ghost did too. He misses you all._

_Love,_

_Lyanna Snow._

_P.S. It’s cool that father might have some boys foster in Winterfell. Just remember that I’m your best friend, Robb! Because you’ll always be mine!_

 

“Always, Lya,” Robb whispered as he read the post-script. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Lyanna's education, with both swords and dresses.


	4. Purple Bruises and Lavender Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna's Dornish education has multiple parts.

 

**Lyanna Snow**

As always, Lyanna tore into the letter from Winterfell as soon as it arrived. She’d been expecting a letter for some time and was thankful that the Starks hadn’t forgotten her. Eagerly, she opened the letter and began to read.

_Dear Lya,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Winterfell has been busy of late as Father organizes the construction of the new keeps. There’s a lot of stone and other stuff that passes along the Kingsroad past Winterfell to Sea Dragon’s Point. Father said that Grandfather wanted to settle the New Gift, but it’s harsh land, and you would have to be a wildling to want to live there. I asked Father if there was enough land for everyone and do you know what he did? He laughed! He said the problem was that there isn’t enough people for the land. He’s putting off building in the New Gift until he can find people to settle there. The first keeps being built are Moat Cailin and Sea Dragon’s Point. Everyone’s excited for Sea Dragon’s Point as a new port, but I think Moat Cailin is cooler. Before it was abandoned, no army could take it! I bet it will look amazing when finished._

_Anyways, Roose Bolton came from the Dreadfort with his son, Domeric. Domeric is going to be fostered in Winterfell for a few years. I didn’t like Roose Bolton very much, but Domeric seems nice. He’s a bit quiet, but very friendly when he opens up. He’s Theon’s age and he likes riding and playing the harp, just like you! Sansa told him that he had the best singing voice she’d ever heard, but I think you’re better. I definitely know that you’re faster on a horse too. Father told us to make sure Domeric feels welcome, so Theon and I showed him around Winterfell. Theon asked if the Boltons still flayed people. Dom said no. I could believe that his father flays people, but Dom doesn’t seem like he’d do that. He’s too nice. We went on a hunt with Father and Jory too. Domeric is a fine bowman, and he gave me some tips. I think we’re going to be great friends._

_I haven’t forgotten about you, though! I’m training harder than ever with Ser Rodrick so that I’ll beat you when you come home._

_Arya wanted to ask about Ghost and Silverwing. She wants to know if Sand Steeds are very different from Northern horses. I bet they are. Dornish horses have to run on sand, and Northern ones have to run on snow. Arya’s riding a lot these days. She really wants to be just like you. She keeps asking Father and Ser Rodrick to teach her to use a sword, but they won’t. Don’t tell anyone, but I teach her at night after everyone in Winterfell is asleep. Figured I’d continue your lessons. Nymeria is just as wild as her. And just as little! Don’t tell Arya, but it sometimes seems like Nymeria is the runt of the litter, not Ghost. Also, father let me, Theon, Arya, and Bran choose our own horses from the stables! Arya’s and Bran’s are ponies, but they’re still excited. They don’t have names yet, but I’ll be sure to tell you when they do._

_Bran still climbs everything in sight. Mother is terrified that he’ll fall, but he’s a great climber and never slips. He’s a good reader and reads all your letters out loud. He’s not as sad as Arya, but he misses you too. He’s started sparring lessons with Ser Rodrick. He dreams of being a knight, just like you do._

_Rickon talks a lot. Ever since he learned to walk, he’s been running around Winterfell hollering as loud as he can. Father says he looks a lot like I did at his age. I suppose you wouldn’t remember, though! Father says that when I was Rickon’s age, I was a wild child, but you were always there to keep me out of trouble. Since you’re in Dorne, I guess I have to be Rickon’s Lya! I feel bad that he doesn’t know you, so I read him all of your letters. You’ll love him, I know it. Also, Rickon finally named his direwolf! I was worried the poor creature would never get a name, but Rickon looked at him and named him ‘Shaggydog’. I’m serious. We all thought it was silly, but now the direwolf won’t respond to anything else. We tried to convince him to pick another name, but he’s too stubborn._

_Sansa is much the same as she was the last time I wrote. She did enjoy when the Manderly girls visited when Wylis Manderly stopped at Winterfell on his way to Sea Dragon’s Point. Their names are Wylla and Wynafryd and they’re ok, I guess. They are definitely more like Sansa than like Arya. Wylla Manderly even had green hair! She got the hair dye in White Harbor from some merchant from Essos and dyes her hair regularly. Just like you did when you wanted to hide the grey ends of your hair. Before you freak out, I know that that color is silver, not grey. I think it’s cool. It looks like Ghost! Sansa still says it’s grey, but I think she’s just jealous that your hair is prettier than hers._

_You shouldn’t have described what it means for a woman to ‘flower’ in your last letter. It sounds so gross! I don’t know how Theon can take such an interest in women’s parts after you told me how they bleed! Is that what moonblood is?! Arya thought it was gross and told me she would never flower if that’s what it meant. By the Gods, if you leave me to deal with her alone when she does, I’ll come down South and throw you over my shoulder and bring you home myself! I also showed Jeyne and Sansa, and they were horrified. They swore that you were lying, and Jeyne said some not-nice things about you. Then, Septa Mordane had to explain to them that you were right after all! The looks on their faces was brilliant! Mother wasn’t very happy, but Father couldn’t stop laughing. He says war is easier than daughters!_

_Father is busier than ever. Most of it is due to the construction. He travels to Moat Cailin a lot. He said he’d take me, Dom, and Theon the next time he goes! There was an execution since my last letter. A deserter from the Night’s Watch. He called me to the Godswood after the execution to talk to me. He said I would be the one using Ice to carry out the King’s Justice one day. He told me that killing a man is a terrible thing, but it is also his duty, and duty must be done no matter how terrible. That will be me, one day. I just hope I do my duty like Father._

_I have some other messages for you. Maester Lewin wanted to ask you how Ghost is. He’s really serious about that book on direwolves. I’ve read the first few chapters. They’re very detailed, with lots of drawings. He really liked the drawings you send. He thinks Ghost is probably as big as Grey Wind, which is cool. I bet he scares all the horses like Grey Wind does. Then again, Ghost doesn’t make a sound. I don’t know whether that’s more or less terrifying! Ser Rodrick wanted to remind you to stay safe when your training. Don’t let the Viper bruise you too much. Mikken wanted to know how Frostbite is holding up. He wanted to remind you to polish and sharpen it regularly._

_Uncle Benjen is coming down to Winterfell soon, so if you have anything to tell him, write soon! Father told me to tell you that he loves hearing from you. He also said that you’re not getting married anywhere except for under the heart tree in Winterfell, so tell Cletus Yronwood to go away, or we’ll come down to Dorne with Ice! He may not have said that last part, but I meant it. You are still my little sister, Snow. Even if you’re better at the sword than me. For now, at least. I am practicing._

_I miss you a lot,_

_Robb_

 

* * *

 

Lyanna was starting to hate Master Qarro.

She liked him at first. She was amazed watching Master Qarro and Prince Oberyn spar in the courtyard. Water Dancing was very different than the Westerosi style of swordplay, and Lyanna all but begged Master Qarro to teach her. He was skeptical at first, but Prince Oberyn convinced Qarro of both Lyanna’s diligence and her natural talent. Finally, Qarro relented, agreeing to teach Lyanna whenever he visited Westeros.

It was Qarro’s idea of teaching that confused Lyanna. For the first lesson, she arrived in the courtyard early in the morning with her sword in hand. She’d wanted to make a good impression. The first thing Qarro did was toss her sword aside and make her hold various stances. Some were easy, boring Lyanna, and some were ridiculous, requiring a level of flexibility and balance she didn’t possess. Qarro would tut disapprovingly whenever she’d fall. He’d give her a lesson once a moon’s turn before returning to Braavos. It took all of Lyanna’s willpower to practice his silly stances when all she wanted to do was swing a sword. When Qarro would return, he’d test her stances, circling her and pushing with a stick to check her balance. Occasionally, he’d nod slightly, the closest thing Lyanna would get to his approval. He still refused to let her use a sword, though. It was a poor salve for the bruises she’d get from this ‘training’, but Lyanna did notice an improvement in her poise and balance, which made her a better fighter. She could hold her own against Ned, who didn’t see the value in Master Qarro’s ‘prancing’. Even still, she was glad for the infrequency of the lessons. Her days were always rougher when Qarro Volentin visited Dorne.

When Qarro arrived in Starfall on her thirteenth nameday, interrupting her lunch on the beach, Lyanna groaned in frustration. She’d hoped to take it easy on her nameday, but Master Qarro’s arrival always meant exhaustive, painful training. Begrudgingly, Lyanna put down the flowers from Winterfell and rose to greet him.

“Master Qarro,” she said, bowing respectfully. Lyanna wanted to take advantage of every moment of Master Qarro’s time, but _Gods did he have to come today?!_

“Pupil,” Qarro said with a quirk of his lips. Most pupils would be happy to see their teacher smile, but Lyanna knew that Qarro’s smirk led only to pain and frustration. “I’ve come to give you my gift.” Lyanna jumped at that. What would he give her? A dagger? A Water Dancer uniform? _A sword!?_ Lyanna already had a sword, but you could never have too many swords. Qarro didn’t seem to be carrying anything, though, which confused Lyanna.

“A gift?” she asked hesitantly. _It’s probably a trick_. The rest of the Daynes were busy eating, even Ghost, the traitor, who Edric discreetly fed under the table.

“Yes, a gift. You see, I have decided to stay in Dorne with Prince Oberyn for the time being. Your gift is more lessons – every day in fact!” Lyanna’s jaw dropped. _Oh, you Braavosi son of a bitch_ , she thought mutinously. Lyanna turned to Prince Oberyn with a glare that could fell an elephant. “In fact,” Qarro continued, obviously relishing this, “why don’t we start now? Show me your turtle stance.” Lyanna groaned and sunk into turtle stance. She balanced on one foot and crouched low, bringing her arms and free leg close. Qarro nudged her with his toe, trying to get her off balance. Lyanna had been practicing, though, and kept her balance. By this time, all of her family was watching the show, and Lyanna was determined to show them how good she’d gotten.

“Now move to your crow’s stance. But do it slowly,” he ordered. Master Qarro demanded that Lyanna perform all her transitions painfully slowly, making sure every movement was perfect. Lyanna slowly rose, still balancing on her left leg, until she stood upright with her arms holding an imaginary sword high in the air. Qarro kept nudging her throughout the move, but she didn’t lose her balance. He arched a brow in surprise, clearly not expecting her to do the move right.

“That was easy. What’s next?” Lyanna asked cockily. _I’m going to regret that._ Qarro broke into a full grin.

“Now a reverse dragon thrust,” Lyanna’s smile fell.

“Master…. I’m wearing a dress,” she protested. _I’ll show my smallclothes to everyone on this beach_.

“Next time, dress appropriately,” Qarro chastised. “Now, I gave you a command.” Lyanna gulped. Half of Water Dancing seemed to involve flips, and the reverse dragon thrust involved a flip and a half. After almost two years of learning Water Dancing, Lyanna could count the number of times she’d pulled it off on one hand. Oberyn was the only one who recognized what Qarro had asked, and he walked over to Lyanna so he could catch her should she fall. Lyanna could feel the eyes on her as she breathed nervously. She was about to begin when Qarro stopped her.

“Wait. Use this as a sword,” he said, giving her a stick. “You think you’re ready for a sword. Prove it.” Lyanna held the stick with determination. _No more messing around. It’s time for some REAL sword lessons._

The first part of the movement was simple: a forward thrust. She thrust as far as she could, using her free arm and leg for balance. The next movement was anything but: a backflip followed by a thrust. Lyanna performed the flip well, landing on one foot and mimicking the thrust without wobbling. The last movement was the hardest: half a backflip landing one hand and thrusting at the knees with the other. Even after mastering the flip, Lyanna rarely ever nailed the landing on this part. It required precision and flexibility, two things Lyanna didn’t have before coming to Dorne. Lyanna didn’t notice the stares from everyone on the beach until he finished the last action, wobbling slightly on her right hand as she thrust with the left, her legs in the air to help her balance. She looked down – up – and saw Prince Oberyn holding the hem of her dress up to her ankles, keeping it from falling down past her waist and flashing her undergarments.

The Daynes cheered loudly, with Ali cheering loudest of all. Allyria clapped and whistled, and Beric gave Lyanna a wide smile. Oberyn let Lyanna get to her feet before clapping her shoulder in pride.

“See, Qarro? I told you it was worth it to come to Starfall.” Qarro’s only response was a curt nod and a brief quirk of the lips.

“Very good,” he said to Lyanna. “Meet me here tomorrow at dawn to begin your lessons in full.” He bowed and Lyanna bowed in return, glowing in pride.

Maybe Qarro Volentin wasn’t _that_ bad.

 

Lyanna’s training had only accelerated since Qarro arrived in Dorne. They trained every morning under Oberyn’s watchful eye, and Lyanna was often sore for the rest of the day, rubbing salve on the bruises on her arms and legs. Oberyn made her run and swim and lift heavy objects seemingly on a whim, but Lyanna never complained. Master Qarro and Prince Oberyn were two of the greatest warriors in Dorne, and until she could beat them Lyanna was going to listen to every word they said.

Even still, Lyanna couldn’t remember a day since Qarro had arrived that she wasn’t sore and covered with bruises. Qarro was a hard taskmaster, and Lyanna had to change the grip on the hilt of Frostbite once a moon’s turn. Had she not worn gloves during the training, her hands would be covered in callouses and blisters. Even still, her entire body seemed to ache every day, so much so that it was hard to get out of bed in the morning.

So, when Beric told her that she needed to take a break from her training to prepare for a trip to Sunspear, Lyanna was almost grateful to focus more on her needlepoint and dancing lessons. Lyanna knew that after the incident at Yronwood, Beric Dayne came to the unfortunate realization that men would see his granddaughter as a future wife to their sons. To Dornish lords, Lyanna wasn’t some bastard, she was the granddaughter of a fellow Dornish lord and the daughter of the Warden of the North. She’d come out of her shell over the past two years in Dorne, and had become quite the charmer, reminding everyone of her mother and her aunt in both personality and appearance. While Lyanna had always thought herself plain in comparison to Sansa and Jeyne Poole, her uncles and aunts had assured her that she was quite beautiful too. Lyanna had always shrugged and accepted their praise, but she didn’t really see it. Either way, she finished up with Master Qarro and Prince Oberyn and made her way to her room to freshen up for her lessons with Aunt Ira and Aunt Allyria.

Beric Dayne had told Lyanna that in order to be a lady knight, she needed to be both a lady _and_ a knight. That meant she couldn’t neglect her lessons with her aunts, for they were as important as her sparring with her uncles. Her lessons with Aunt Ira weren’t anything like her ones with Septa Mordane in Winterfell, though. Septa Mordane spent most of those lessons lecturing about the vices and sins of bastards, as if Lyanna was an evil creature who’d bring House Stark to ruin unless properly restrained. Aunt Ira taught her – and Aunt Allyria, who was more of a big sister than an aunt if Lyanna was being honest – about Dornish history and politics, how to run a castle and holdfast, how to handle oneself in court, and how to balance the affections and ambitions the various Dornish lords. Ira taught Lyanna and Allyria which lords were friendly, which were rivals, who to trust, and who to avoid. She insisted that these lessons were just as important as learning to sing and sew. Imagining Septa Mordane trying to explain why the Yronwoods fostered Quentyn Martell – Oberyn had lain with Edgar Yronwood’s paramour then killed him in a duel for the paramour’s heart and Doran had to make some sort of amends – always brought a smile to Lyanna’s face.

Lyanna rushed to Aunt Ira’s lesson, knowing she was late. Technically, it wasn’t her fault; it had taken her _ages_ to get her hair in order. Today’s lesson was all about dressing properly for Dornish court. Prince Doran had invited all the Lords to come to Sunspear for his daughter’s nameday, and the Daynes knew that the occasion would be a test for Lyanna. As a woman flowered, more would be expected of Lyanna, and she wanted to make her house look good. As she burst into the dressing room, face flushed from exertion and hair completely messy again, Ira rolled her eyes in amused exasperation.

“I imagine Qarro and Oberyn kept you,” she asked, trying to keep a smile from her face. Allyria just laughed and continued stroking Ghost. _So that’s where he went._

“Actually, I was trying to do my hair like you showed me, Aunt Ira,” Lyanna admitted sheepishly. “Then I couldn’t find Ghost, though I guess I know why.” She finished with an especially pointed look at the direwolf, who just rolled on his back for belly rubs, his tongue lolling shamelessly. Lord Stark had warned that a direwolf could tear a man’s arm off, but Ghost didn’t look fearsome in the slightest, even if he was larger than a bloodhound.

“Let me see,” Ira said kindly, beckoning Lyanna closer. “You actually did a good job, Lya. It would look even better if you didn’t run everywhere, but I suppose that can’t be helped. None of you Daynes understand how to walk, it seems.” She chuckled to herself, obviously remembering her husband in his youth. Ali Dayne had what Lord Stark called _Wolfsblood_ , and his temper and energy was legendary. He’d have been the best warrior in Starfall in not for his little brother, who was, in Lyanna’s opinion, the finest swordsman of all time. And nothing provoked Ali’s temper like family; when Cletus Yronwood tried to ask Lyanna to marry him, Ali pulled him aside and threatened to geld him should the boy so much as _look_ at his niece the wrong way.

“I just don’t understand this braid,” Lyanna pouted, turning her head to point to a series of circular braids tied close to the back of her head. “Why does it have to be so complicated if it is in the back? No one’s going to see it unless they’re behind me. What kind of person stares at the back of a lady’s head?” Ira laughed as she gently undid the braids, freeing Lyanna’s hair. It was much longer than she normally wore it, reaching all the way down to her waist. Lyanna asked to have it cut so many times, but Ira insisted that she needed long hair to make the braids and loops work. When training, Lyanna tied it in a simple braid, enough to fit most of it under a hat. Unfortunately, that wasn’t good enough for the court of Sunspear.

“I want it long because of your hair’s unique color. Once I’m done braiding it, your hair should be a more manageable length. It’s very soft, by the way. I’m glad I don’t need to pester you to take good care of your hair,” Ira hummed as she re-did the braids. It seemed so easy when she did it.

“After you’re finished, Ira and I want to show you what you’ll be wearing to the Princess’s nameday feast,” Allyria said, drawing Lyanna’s attention. Lyanna flushed a little, unused to all this fuss being made over her appearance. “It’s a new dress, one that I think you’ll like.” Lyanna nodded, drawing a tut from Ira as she disrupted some of her braids.

“Still now, Lyanna. I’m almost done.” Lyanna groaned impatiently, envious of the boys who didn’t have to go through all of this nonsense.

“Where was Ned?” Lyanna asked. “He wasn’t with me and Uncle Oberyn this morning.”

“Your cousin and his father went to the markets to get proper dress clothes. Trust my brother to put this off to the last second,” Allyria said, shaking her head. Her dark black tresses bobbed wildly, and Allyria frowned as she adjusted her hair back to the way it was. “I don’t see why _I_ had to dress up,” she sniffed. “We’re not leaving for Sunspear until tomorrow.”

“And what would happen if your dress didn’t fit?” Ira asked, like a parent patiently dealing with an unruly child. “What would we do then?”

“We know it fits! I tried it out a fortnight ago!” Allyria protested. “Wait,” she said, eyes narrowing, “are you saying that I won’t fit in it anymore?!” Lyanna rolled her eyes at the woman’s dramatics. Ira just ignored her, finally finishing with Lyanna’s hair and starting on the powders. Admittedly, Lyanna didn’t need much; her skin was naturally – frustratingly – pale, her cheeks rosy, and her lips red.

“Also, Lord Dayne wanted a family portrait. I thought it would be a good way to make sure we were ready.”

“Then why am I here?” Lyanna asked without thinking. She’d never been allowed to join the Stark family portraits; being a bastard, Lyanna was forced to watch from the side as her siblings got dressed up and posed.

“It’s a family portrait, Lyanna,” Allyria said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t have to be here.”

“But, I’m a bastard,” Lyanna said, looking down in shame. “I’m not a Dayne or a Stark, just a Snow.”

“Look at me, Lyanna,” Ira ordered, tilting Lyanna’s chin up. She gently wiped the tears from Lyanna’s eyes, giving a slight _tsk_ where her tears left streaks in the powder. Lyanna shifted her eyes, avoiding her aunt’s gaze. “I mean it, Lyanna,” Ira said much more tersely. “Look at me.” Lyanna’s eyes met Ira’s, betraying her vulnerability and shame. “You are Lord Dayne’s granddaughter. The daughter of Ashara Dayne, his daughter. You _are_ a Dayne. Just as you are a Stark. You’re family, Lyanna, and I won’t have you or anyone else say otherwise. Understood?” Ira’s tone was stern, but Lyanna didn’t care, lunging forwards and hugging her aunt tightly, burying her face into Ira’s chest. “Good. Now that you’re done with this silliness, we need you to make sure your dress fits.”

 

 _I look like a doll_. The first thing Lyanna thought as she looked in the mirror. A stranger looked back at her with a contemplative expression. This stranger had Lyanna’s bright violet eyes and almost-elfish Valyrian features: her high cheekbones, upturned nose, full lips, and arched brows. The stranger had Lyanna’s slim figure, her growing chest and hips, and her slender waist. The stranger was dressed in a fine silver and lavender dress. It was clearly not a hand-me-down; Lyanna was definitely the first one to wear it. The dress fit perfectly, hugging Lyanna tightly and displaying her shoulders. It wasn’t a dress you’d see in the North, but it was a good deal more conservative than what Princess Arianne would likely be wearing. The stranger had long silver earrings, an elaborate necklace, and ribbons and lace and flowers in her hair. Her hair itself was done up in a series of fancy braids and knots before cascading in curly ringlets carefully past her shoulders. It wasn’t dyed like it was back in Winterfell; instead, the natural colors shone through. Lyanna supposed this stranger looked liker her, but something felt _off_. It was what she might’ve looked like had Lady Stark or Sansa helped her to dress for a feast. Arya would’ve scoffed, but Lyanna didn’t feel disdain at her appearance. She felt – well, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She’d worn a nice dress for the portrait she sent to Winterfell, but that had been a much more authentic depiction of what she looked like on a regular day. She’d put her hair in a regular braid and put a few purple flowers in it, but nothing she did had taken more than a few minutes. In contrast, Aunt Ira and Aunt Allyria had taken what seemed like _hours_ getting Lyanna dressed. She almost felt like a different person, like the girl staring at her was someone else.

The girl in the mirror wasn’t a bastard.

In the mirror, she saw someone approach: a grinning man in a chaperone and padded fabric clothing.

“How do you feel,” Ali asked his niece, putting his hands gently on her shoulders. “You look radiant, just like your mother did.”

“I feel weird,” Lyanna admitted. “I’m not used to looking like this.” Ali laughed.

“Beautiful?” he asked. Lyanna nodded. “Well you should be. You’re always beautiful. Even covered in sweat and dirt after sparring and swimming, you’re very pretty. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of yourself, you know.”

“I guess,” Lyanna conceded. Ali made a small sound of disagreement, but he let her continue. “I’m just not used to the…” she made a gesture in the air, trying to illustrate her point. Ali seemed to get it.

“The formality, right? You’re not used to dressing up like this.” Lyanna nodded, glad someone understood how she felt.

“How do you and Grandfather and Aunt Allyria and Aunt Ira do this all the time? Even Ned seems comfortable with all this _finery_.” Lyanna asked. She hated the way she had to move and walk carefully, as if one wrong motion would ruin hours of hard work. Ali laughed at the question.

“First of all, my father and I don’t go through _nearly_ the amount of work you and your Aunts do. But you’re right. Ira and Allyria do dress elegantly every day. You get used to it, I guess. It doesn’t take as long and moving around dressed like this starts to feel more natural with practice. Don’t worry. By the time we get to Sunspear, you’re going to feel a lot more comfortable like this. You have two great teachers here in Starfall.”

“I hope so. I’m worried I’ll look like a fool,” Lyanna admitted. “I’m not used to such appearances. In Winterfell, I wasn’t allowed to be around guests for fear that I’d seduce them and ruin their honor and shame my father.” Ali shook his head, muttering something like _damn Northerners_.

“First of all, any man seduced by a girl of less than thirteen years doesn’t need someone to ruin their honor; they have none to begin with. And you couldn’t shame us if you tried. Or your father, for that matter. Did you know he writes us whenever he and your siblings write to you?” Lya didn’t know that, and she shook her head. Truly, she hadn’t expected her father to correspond with her uncle and grandfather, given how violent and bloody their history was. “It’s true. He always wants to know about how his little girl is doing. I’d do the same for Edric. He’s so proud of you, you know. He loves you, as do we all.” Lyanna stayed silent, absorbing everything her uncle said. She knew that in Dorne, her bastardy mattered little; nevertheless, it was still hard to shake the feelings of inferiority brought by a childhood of shamefully hiding in shadows. Sensing the shift in mood, Ali moved on to lighter topics.

“It wasn’t easy for me to get used to courtly behavior and dress either,” he said, grinning. Lyanna felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. From what she knew of her uncle, that was an understatement if anything. “I used to run around in just my pants. I don’t think I wore a tunic until right before my wedding day.” Lyanna felt laughter bubble from her chest and spill out from her lips. Encouraged, Ali continued. “I still remember meeting Ira’s parents for the first time. She was all dressed up like you are now. Then, I showed up. Arthur, Oberyn, and I had been swimming in the Torrentine, and, of course, we were stark naked.” Lyanna grinned, knowing where this story was going. Truthfully, she didn’t wear much when she went swimming in the Torrentine either; the salt of the Sunset Sea tended to ruin clothes. Even still, she could imagine that it wouldn’t’ve been a good first impression.

“Her mother was horrified, of course,” Ali chortled. “Three stark naked men come out of the bay and greet her. But not just any three men, no these three were the Sword of the Morning, a Prince of Dorne, and finally – and least impressively – the heir to Starfall. Her father wanted to gut us right there. I honestly think my father would’ve let him, that’s how furious he was. My mother thought it was the funniest thing in the word, though she could never stay mad at Arthur. Ira just looked at us with disapproval. I think that’s when she realized that she wasn’t marrying a lord but an overgrown child.

I’ve grown up since then. No one truly stays a child forever. It was the Rebellion that really forced me to mature,” Ali said, with just a hint of sadness in his voice. Lyanna understood completely; he _had_ lost his mother, brother, and sister in the span of a few years. Alia Dayne, Beric’s wife, had passed of a fever during the war, in a sickness that nearly took Allyria and Ira too – and while Ira survived, her unborn child hadn’t. Beric and Ali were off fighting with the Dornish forces at the Trident, leaving a pregnant Ashara to care for Starfall and little Allyria. And, of course, everyone knows what happened to Ashara and Arthur Dayne. Lyanna couldn’t imagine what he must have gone through during that time, though she supposed losing almost all of your family in the war was something Ali and Ned Stark had in common.

“I was trying to lighten the mood, though,” Ali laughed. “But I can see you’re still brooding.”

“Aunt Ira says that I need to stop frowning or my forehead will have permanent lines,” Lyanna recalled.

“She tends to be right about those kinds of things,” Ali acknowledged. “But I still ignore them. Annoys her to no end.” Lyanna laughed.

“She also said I can’t wear my sword.” Lyanna pouted, knowing that she was petty. “I don’t feel like me without my sword.” Ali picked up Frostbite, still in her scabbard, and examined her carefully.

“Well, we’ll have to do something about that, won’t we?” He held Frostbite in one hand and snaked it through the fabric, tightening her dress around the sword. Ali stepped back, admiring his handiwork. Lyanna twirled gently in front of the mirror, grinning as she saw the hilt of the sword peeking between her shoulder-blades before disappearing into the folds of her dress. Lyanna took the dagger and strapped it to her thigh. It was elegant yet deadly, just like Lyanna.

“Feel a little better?” Ali asked. “A true lady-knight. That’s what you are. Nymeria reborn.” Lyanna hugged him tightly, standing on her toes and making Ali lean down so she could kiss his cheek.

“Thank you, uncle!” she chimed brightly.

“Just remember one thing, Lyanna. A sword remains the same regardless of its sheath. Dawn would still shine when wrapped in parchment while a butcher’s knife in gold remains a butcher’s knife. You,” he said, poking Lyanna in the shoulder, “are more than your clothes. You are Lyanna Snow, a daughter of Starfall and Dorne and a daughter of Winterfell and the North. A star and a wolf, and a Dayne and a Stark. No dress or trousers will ever take that away.”

 _No dress will ever take that away_ , Lyanna thought, looking at _herself_ in the mirror.

 

Lyanna wasn’t surprised when Ghost ran up to her after the painting was done. He always seemed to appear right when Lyanna was about to make a fool of herself, and now was no exception. The direwolf tugged on her arm as soon as Ira had taken off the dress. She’d rolled her eyes at the sword on Lyanna’s back – _Ali_ , she laughed knowingly – but didn’t disapprove, merely commenting that whoever made the sword had a good eye for craftsmanship. Lyanna would be sure to let Mikken know in her next letter. Lyanna was barely out of the dress and into a tunic and a pair of trousers when the direwolf padded up to her, red eyes shining eagerly.

What Ghost wanted was to get her to train some more. Most of her training involved food, and Ghost was always welcome to the leftovers of whatever meats Lyanna had to cut. Oberyn had told Qarro to take it easy with the bruising training until after the Princess’s nameday celebration, and, surprisingly, Qarro agreed. Qarro’s new training involved Lyanna standing on one foot and hitting rolls of stale bread out of the air with a spear. It was easy enough to do: Lyanna had been learning Water Dancing for about two years, and she’d been training with a spear under Oberyn’s eye for just as long. The difficulty came when Qarro blindfolded her. Suddenly, she found herself pelted with bread rolls from every side. She got the sense that Qarro and Oberyn weren’t alone in training – or should that be _tormenting_ – her. As Lyanna heard Edric’s and Allyria’s distinct laughter, she felt herself flush.

“This is impossible!” she huffed, taking the blindfold off. She glared at Oberyn, who was doubled over in laughter. “No one can do this! Stop laughing! Argh!” Lyanna made a frustrated sound and sat down to pout, noticing how Allyria tried to hide the armful of rolls she’d been using.

“If I can prove you wrong, will that change your mind?” Oberyn asked, knowing that Lyanna was too competitive and proud to give up if Oberyn proved it could be done. He didn’t get a verbal answer, but the way Lyanna cocked a brow confirmed her interest. Oberyn picked up the spear and stood in the middle of the yard. He gave Lyanna a wink before putting the blindfold over his eyes and smoothly balanced on one foot.

“Alright, Lyanna. Throw me some bread.” Lyanna rolled her eyes. Oberyn wasn’t even facing her. _This is stupid_ , she thought, picking up a roll. She strafed Oberyn as silently as she could, gently moving on the balls of her feet. When she was behind him, Lyanna threw the roll as hard as she could at the back of Oberyn’s head, waiting for the loud smack.

The roll didn’t hit him. Instead, Oberyn twirled the spear over his head and knocked the roll out of midair. Lyanna gaped as he brought the spear down without moving at all. _How did he know?_ She thought, completely astounded. She picked up another roll and threw it, this time at his legs. Oberyn blocked it with a flick of the wrist.

Suddenly, everyone else got in on the act. Allyria and Edric were the first ones to start throwing rolls, picking them up off of the ground whenever they’d run out. Ali eagerly joined in, aiming his rolls either at Oberyn’s face or between his legs. Even Ira threw a couple rolls. Oberyn was completely surrounded by the Daynes, with projectiles flying at him from all sides. Oberyn didn’t get them all, but he knocked away the vast majority of them, expertly spinning his spear to block attacks from the front, the back, and the sides. After a few rolls hit him, he lost is cocky smirk and gritted his teeth, displaying an unusual level of seriousness. The intensity of his movements increased, so much so that the rolls started flying back at the assailants with alarming speed. Lyanna was even hit in the nose, which was doubly embarrassing as she wasn’t even blindfolded anymore.

“How do you do that?” Lyanna asked once the attack subsided. Oberyn seemed only slightly out of breath, more exhausted from the mental strain than from physical exertion. “How do you know where the rolls are when your eyes are closed?” Oberyn looked at Qarro, who’d observed the display without seeming too impressed.

“Clear your mind,” Qarro intoned as he put the blindfold over Lyanna’s eyes again. “Ignore your thoughts; let them come and let them pass. Don’t fixate on anything. Hear the sounds around you and isolate them. Know where they are and see the arc of the roll in your mind’s eye.” None of this made sense to Lyanna. _Mind’s eye? Ignore your thoughts?_ Nevertheless, Lyanna saw Oberyn do this and she’d be damned before she admitted defeat. Lyanna breathed deep, controlled breaths, trying to clear her mind. She tried to picture the courtyard around her in her mind and imagine where the roll was coming from and how it would fly. Lyanna gripped the spear a little tighter and rose up onto one leg, wobbling slightly as she found her balance.

Lyanna heard something and struck out in front of her… only to be struck in the back of the bead by a roll. _Dammit_. She gritted her teeth and tried to force the thoughts from her head. She felt the air still and tried to concentrate on individual sounds – the breeze flowing through the trees, a person running in the distance, two women haggling in the market, _the sound of something flying from her left_ – Lyanna swung to her left but missed and was hit by yet another roll. She was making progress, though. This time, she’d swung in the right direction.

Lyanna kept at this exercise in futility for a few hours before getting the hang of it. They’d used about a hundred stale rolls, rolls that would probably go to pigs now, but Lyanna couldn’t bring herself to regret the waste. In the last hour, she’d hit thirty rolls! She’d even had a streak of ten rolls until one came from the back – probably from Allyria – to dampen her success. Nevertheless, she’d made progress. Grudging, tentative progress, but progress nonetheless. Qarro had made a comment that her success was indifferentiable from sheer luck, but Lyanna figured at least a few of those hits were skill. Either way, she was confident that she’d only need a few more days of practice before she could reliably hit those rolls.

“Can I try with my sword?” she asked. “I might be better with it.” She couldn’t see Qarro or Oberyn, but she guessed they probably didn’t seem enthused about making this easier for her.

“Sure,” Oberyn said, surprising her. “If you can find it.” _Oh, ha ha_ , Lyanna thought mutinously. _I’ll show you._

“Watch this,” she declared. “Ghost. My sword.” She gave the order imperiously and extended her hand. Nothing happened. “Ghost. My sword.” Lyanna wiggled her fingers expectantly but didn’t feel the hilt of her sword. She could hear Oberyn’s stifled sniggering. “Is he even here?” Lyanna asked angrily.

“Oh, he’s here, the lazy son of a bitch,” Oberyn chortled. “I don’t think he’s as smart as you think.”

“No, he’s smarter. He knows what he’s doing,” Lyanna grumbled. “He’s just doing this to make me mad. Ghost! My sword!” Lyanna didn’t hear Ghost move until she felt him lick her fingers. “Come on! I know you understand me! Hand me my sword!”

“I stand corrected,” Oberyn drawled sarcastically. Lyanna could see Oberyn’s shit-eating grin and Master Qarro’s exasperated annoyance in her mind’s eye, just as she could see Ghost’s feigned innocent, ‘I’m just a direwolf who can’t understand what you’re saying’ expression. She wasn’t fooled. The direwolf knew what he was doing. Lyanna sighed, realizing the only way she’d get Ghost to cooperate would be through bribery. _I’ll have to have a word with Auntie Allyria. She’s spoilt Ghost rotten!_

“Fine, Ghost. You win. If you give me my sword, we’ll take the ferry to the market and buy you some of that squid you like so much.” Immediately, she felt the leather grip of her sword hilt on her palm. Lyanna grabbed the sword and triumphantly pulled it free of its sheath, the steel ringing sweetly. Ghost gave her leg a small nudge, as if to say _remember my reward_ , before padding a safe distance away.

“Ha! I take it back. That wolf’s much cleverer than I thought. Well done training him… or bribing him, I should say.” Lyanna took the complement with a mock curtsey before readying herself for more projectiles. The first one came from her left. Lyanna swung on instinct, grinning when she heard the satisfying sound of her blade cutting through a stale roll of bread.

“I see you’ve found yourself a squire, Lyanna,” she heard her grandfather say. Lyanna cracked a wide grin.

“I trained him myself,” she said, pausing only to slice another projectile. This time, it was some rotten fruit, judging by the pungent juice that sprayed on her. Lyanna grimaced at the smell, but continued to strike at more flung food, hitting most of them. She groaned every time a blood orange hit her in the face, or a broken cabbage splattered on her back. “Maybe I should teach him how to wash clothes next.” Beric laughed loudly, a rare outburst from the normally restrained lord.

“Maybe you should,” he chuckled as he picked out food from her hair. “Though I think you could learn some cleanliness from him.” Lyanna made a sound of protest. “All I’m saying is Ghost seems to be much better at grooming himself. I mean, I’ve never seen him covered in bread and fruit.”

“That’s because I’m the one who washes and grooms him! Ghost is far too lazy to shear himself!” Lyanna protested. “And I’m only messy because I’m training.” Lyanna took off the blindfold and looked her grandfather in the eye. “But I’ll clean up once I’m done.” Beric grinned behind his long white beard.

“And?” Lyanna sighed, groaning inwardly.

“And I’ll change back into my dress for dinner with Lady Larra and Jynessa Blackmont,” she answered, with just a touch of reluctance. Beric chuckled and ruffled her hair.

“That’s my girl. And why are you going to do that?” Lyanna returned his grin, smiling brightly through the mess all over her face. She put the blindfold back over her face and balanced back on one foot, ready to resume her training.

“Because I’m a lady and a knight. And I’m going to be the best of both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Lyanna is thirteen - yeah, this chapter takes place around a year or so after the last - and all teenagers are insecure to some extant. I figured that she'd be at least aware of her body and, y'know, puberty and all that fun stuff. Even still, I've never felt creepier than when I was describing a fictional girl's "growing chest and hips". Ugh. 
> 
> Also, love all the comments! Will try to respond to more from now on!
> 
> Next time: A flashback to when Lyanna learned what a bastard was and the only time she defied her father. Yeah, I know. I'm breaking up the action. Chapters 6-9, Arianne's b-day bash, are really plot-heavy, and I need the extra time to get my research right and plan out the story. I promise it'll be worth it, though. So chapter five will be a bit of filler, but it is still pretty good, imho. First time writing angst.


	5. In the Name of the Mother, I Charge You to Protect the Young and Innocent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb tells his siblings a story from when he and Lyanna were young.

 

 

**Robb Stark**

_‘To my family in Winterfell,_

_I’m writing this the day before we depart for Sunspear. We’re going to Princess Arianne’s twentieth nameday celebration. I’m really excited. We’re all dressing up, and I’ll get to meet all the Dornish Lords!  It felt strange getting so fancy, but it also feels good. I see why Sansa and Jeyne like to act like little ladies. I have to say, I like feeling pretty. I’m writing as fast as I can, so I apologize if this is hard to read. I’m at the docks trying to finish this letter before the ship to White Harbor sails. I’ll write again after we return. Until then, I’ll put a quick message for each of you._

_First, a few words to Robb. All that new construction sounds interesting. I bet lots of people are coming and going in Winterfell. You must go to Moat Cailin and tell me about it! I remember the ruins we stopped at when we parted ways. I can’t wait to know what it will look like when the construction is done. Whoever gets it will be very lucky. It’ll be a huge responsibility too. After the Neck, Moat Cailin is the North’s next line of defense from a Southern army, right? Whoever becomes the Lord of Moat Cailin will definitely be one of your most valued bannermen when you become Lord of Winterfell._

_Sansa,_

_You would love the dresses Aunt Ira, Auntie Allyria, and I are wearing. They’re fine silk and lace. The only problem is the dresses are fragile, so I have to be careful when I’m wearing it. I’ve gotten pretty good at being a courtly lady. I can curtsey and sing really well now! In Sunspear, Grandfather wants me to talk with all the Lords and their children, so I’m sure I’ll get a lot of practice. I’m not looking for a husband, though. I made sure to tell him after what happened with Cletus Yronwood. Aunt Ira says that the feast is a good opportunity to test my ability to handle the politics of Court. She’s taught me a lot about who the Dornish Lords are and how to understand them. Aunt Ira’s very smart, if a bit strict. Grandfather says she’s the only reason he’s comfortable with Uncle Ali being Lord of Starfall one day. Uncle Ali rolls his eyes whenever Grandfather says that. Anyways, I’ll write more when we return._

_Arya,_

_I’m glad to hear that Robb is continuing your sword training. Make sure you keep up your lessons. All of them. Just because I’m gone doesn’t mean you can stop listening to your mother. She knows best, and you should do what she says. Listen to Septa Mordane too, even if she’s dull and knows nothing. Don’t fight with your sister either. You have to do all these things if you want to be my squire when I come back. Also, I heard that father got you a pony! You have to tell me what you named it. I named my horse Silverwing, after Good Queen Alysanne’s dragon. I bet you’ll name your Meraxes, after Rhaenys’s dragon. That was my first choice, but Uncle Oberyn thought it wasn’t wise to name a Sand Steed after a dragon that died in Dorne. But I think Meraxes is a good choice for yours. Or Vhagar, Visenya’s dragon. That’s a good name too._

_Bran,_

_Careful with your climbing! Gods, you must scare your mother, silly! What would happen if you fell? How would we all feel? You can’t be a knight if you break your neck, you know. Don’t tell Robb, but you’re definitely the smartest of the Stark children. What would they do without you? Robb and Arya need you to keep them out of trouble! Anyways, I wanted to tell you about a few of the most loyal knights of Starfall. Their names are Ser Lyle, Ser Milo, Ser Duncan, Ser Harras, Ser Allem, Ser Osric, and Ser Yves. I’ve gotten to know all of them pretty well over the years. They’re all pretty nice and like to join me in training. Ser Yves is really big, as big as Hodor! He carries something called a halberd, which is like a large war axe but with a spear tip on top and a spike on the butt. His halberd is really heavy. I couldn’t even swing it! All seven are knights of House Dayne, cousins and nephews of Grandfather and Uncle Ali. Each one of them has to spend one day in rotation guarding Dawn. They change guard at sunrise. It’s all very fancy, but these are true knights. Theon would call them weak mainlanders, but I’ll tell you, I won’t be trying to steal Dawn anytime soon!_

_Rickon,_

_Hopefully Robb will read this to you. Don’t listen to him. Shaggydog is a great name! I remember when he was just a little puppy. He was all black with yellow eyes, and I knew he’d be really wild. I bet you like running around Winterfell, right? Robb was the same way when he was little. He used to drag everywhere! Make sure you put a message when Robb writes next time. I love hearing from all of you!_

_Domeric,_

_I’m including a message for you because you’re part of the family now that you’re living in Winterfell. How do you like it? How different is Winterfell from the Dreadfort? It feels cold at first, but soon it will feel like home. Trust me. Anyways, you need to tell me where you’ve explored. I hope Robb and Theon have been showing you around. If they haven’t been including you, let me know, and I’ll set them straight. I heard you like to hunt and ride. In that case, you’ll love the Wolfswood, I’m sure._

_Father,_

_I’m sure you’re wondering if I’m staying safe. I promise, I’m being careful. Grandfather won’t say it, but he’s nervous about letting me go to such a large event. He’s always making me promise to be careful. I’ll be fine, though. When have I ever gotten into trouble? Anyways, Uncle Ali will probably stay by my side to threaten any boy who looks at me, so rest assured I’ll be fine. You should have seen him in Yronwood! I wonder if that’s how you or Uncle Benjen will be when boys try to talk to Sansa. I bet they’d be terrified of your Lord Face! I also wanted to tell you that the Winter Roses and weirwood sapling are actually growing really well. Maester Lewin sent some instructions for how to keep them healthy, and I’ve followed them very closely. I put them in the Godswood because it reminds me of Winterfell. I go there whenever I miss you. I think you’d like it if you ever came to visit. I love you very much, father._

_Uncle Benjen,_

_You have to tell me about the Wall! You have to! Is it true that there are Ice Spiders and Giants beyond the wall? What about wildlings? Do you fight them a lot? I’m still mad I can’t join the Night’s Watch. I won’t be like Brave Danny Flint. I have a sword, after all. Did father tell you? He said I was too young to have a sword, so I worked for Mikken and saved up until I could afford one myself. My sword’s great! I named her Frostbite. Prince Oberyn says I have a natural talent for the sword. I bet I could be a ranger one day if I could take the black. Write back soon, please. I haven’t seen you in ages, and I miss you a lot._

_I will write to you all soon,_

_Lyanna snow._

Robb finished reading the letter, pausing after every few seconds to look at the little children in front of him. Arya, Bran, and Rickon lay curled in Arya’s bed trying to stay awake. Robb had read their four parts out loud, figuring nothing in them was too private. He’d taken to reading his part by himself before showing it to them. Lyanna was usually careful with her words, but ever since she inadvertently taught Arya and Sansa what it meant for a woman to ‘flower’, Robb had been extra careful.

Luckily, this letter seemed to be relatively benign. Of course, Rickon felt vindicated by Lyanna’s acceptance of Shaggydog’s name. As if recognizing Lyanna’s approval, Shaggydog jumped up onto the bed, crowding the three children snuggled under the furs. Summer and Nymeria lay on the floor like adults, but Shaggydog, who was just as wild and uncontrollable as Rickon, seemed determined to keep everyone from sleeping. Robb had tried to wrestle the direwolf away from his siblings, but gave up, resigned to the fact that his mother would be very cross with them come morning.

If Rickon was vindicated, Bran was positively smug, repeating _‘I’m the smartest! Lya says so!’_ over and over. Arya protested vehemently until Robb whispered assurances that _Lya was only saying that to get him to stop climbing_. Unfortunately, Arya then decided that she needed to start climbing towers herself so Lya would call her smart too. Robb just shook his head at his sister’s stubbornness, making a mental note to chew Lyanna out for making his life harder in his next letter to Starfall.

“Alright, you animals. Time to sleep,” Robb said, putting on his best ‘Lord Voice’ for more authority. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Bran saw right through him and rolled his eyes.

“Your lord voice doesn’t work on us,” Bran pointed out. “You’re not as good at it as Father. And you’re not a man yet.” Arya giggled, taking Bran’s side.

“No sleep!” Rickon shouted, making the other three wince at the volume. _‘Make sure your siblings go to bed at a decent hour,’_ Catelyn had directed him before she and Ned left for White Harbor for a fortnight. _‘Especially Rickon. The Seven know that boy will turn me grey.’_ Sansa had been easy, only needing to be told once before getting ready for bed. Robb only wished that she’d read some of Lyanna’s letters from Starfall. Unfortunately, Sansa refused to so much as acknowledge her, taking Lyanna’s absence as an opportunity to pretend she never existed. She looked so much like their mother when she glared coldly as Robb, Arya, Bran, and Rickon pored over Lyanna’s words.

“More letters!” Rickon continued, refusing to lower his voice. Robb groaned, feeling a newfound respect for his mother, who must’ve had infinite patience to deal with this every day.

“That’s all that Lya wrote, Rickon. It’s time to sleep,” Robb said, trying to be gentle. _By the Old and the New, just go to sleep._

“More Lya?” Rickon asked with a whimper. Robb felt a pang in his heart at Rickon’s dejected expression. Before his brain caught up, he’d opened his mouth and said something he knew he’d regret.

“If I tell you a story about Lyanna and me, will you go to sleep?” Immediately, three pairs of eyes stared at him. “Alright,” Robb said, tucking the blanked under them, “but you have to be quiet, and you all have to sleep after.” Robb pulled an old whicker chair close to the bed and sat down, only realizing how weary he was when he sunk into the chair. He waited until he got three nods of agreement before beginning the story. _The sooner Mother and Father come home, the better._

 

 

_“Wait for me, Lya!” Robb shouted, grinning a wide gap-toothed smile. He was covered head to toe in dirt and his red hair was messy and wild, covered in dirt and leaves. Robb rubbed the dirt out of his eyes, smudging it across his freckles, and looked ahead of him at his sister, who’d run just out of his reach, bolting past the trees of the Godswood. She ran carefully along the edge of the pool, her silhouette framed by falling red weirwood leaves. Robb laughed and gave chase, jittering with energy like only a summer child of seven could._

_“No! You have to catch me!” Lyanna shouted over her shoulder. She laughed breathlessly as she wove in and out of the trees, trying to lose her brother. Every time she’d look over her shoulder, she could see Robb a little further in the distance. Robb sprinted faster, hoping to catch up before she left his sight. In the middle of the Godswood, the woods seemed to extend endlessly, going on forever. Even though Robb could still see Winterfell’s main towers and keep, the Godswood was so big that you could be forgiven for forgetting you were still within Winterfell’s walls and for thinking you were in the middle of the Wolfswood to the North of the castle. As Robb reached the heart tree in the center of the Godswood he stopped for a second to catch his breath. Looking around, he realized with a groan that Lyanna had completely disappeared._

_“Lya!” he shouted, trying to find her. Robb walked around the weirwood tree, looking to see if his sneaky sister was hiding, ready to jump out and scare him. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found. Robb was starting to get frustrated. “Ok, Lya! Come out now!” Robb shouted, looking around for his sister. He checked all the trees around the Godswood pond, expecting to find her crouching behind one with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Lyanna could be quiet and withdrawn in public, but in the Godswood, she was a different person, energetic and free-spirited and stubborn as hell. Robb sat at the foot of the heart tree, trying not to worry. He and Lyanna were never apart. They did everything together: eating, sleeping, playing, lessons, sparring, even bathing. Without her, the Godswood started to feel less like the perfect place to play and more like a dark, oppressive forest. The sun started to set, casting dark and twisted shadows on the ground. The heart tree, with its silent screaming face and bleeding eyes, seemed more tortured and gnarled than Robb remembered. As Robb started to get more and more scared, he felt a twist in his gut._

_“Lya, please come back,” he whimpered. “I don’t want to play anymore.” Robb sat against the trunk of the weirwood tree, tucking his knees under his chin. Robb’s eyes darted in every direction, imagining monsters or wildlings in every rustling bush. As the oranges and purples of the sunset sky faded to the black of night, Robb started wondering whether he should go back to the keep. ‘No,’ he thought resolutely. ‘Not without Lya.’ Robb tucked himself tighter and stared stubbornly at the pool, trying to hide his shiver. Just as he felt his eyes start to close, he heard the sound of soft sobbing coming from behind a nearby bush. Robb followed the sound to a clearing about a hundred years away. Carefully, Robb pushed aside the bushes and sprouts to see Lya crouching on the ground, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. She must’ve heard him approach, for she turned her head to look at him. Robb was struck by just how distraught she looked. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy and her nose was dropping. Robb Booked over to her side, fearing she’d been hurt. Before he could say anything, though, Lya drew his attention to a bundle of brown in her hands. It was a small bird, a common sparrow, and its wing was torn and bent at an unnatural angle._

_“She’s hurt,” Lyanna whispered, her voice strained. “Her babies will die if she can’t feed them. I don’t know what to do.” The bird squeaked pitifully in Lyanna’s hands. Robb notices red scratches running up and down her hands, wrists, and arms. While Lyanna seemed to preoccupied with the wounded creature in her hands to tend to her own injuries, Robb was much more concerned. She was holding a wild animal, after all. As small as the bird was, it did have claws on its feet and a rather sharp beam too. Robb wasn’t unsympathetic to the animal’s plight, but looking at the scratches run raw, red, and bleeding on his sister’s arms, Robb couldn’t care less about the bird._

_“Lya… You’re hurt,” Robb pointed out, concern in his voice. Lyanna looked at her own wounds almost as if seeing them for the first time and winced slightly. “Did the bird do that to you?” Robb asked, the concern turning into anger. His tone seemed to change something in Lyanna, for sure immediately turned defensive, standing upright and fixing him with a withering glare. Her wounds forgotten, she turned slightly, putting her body between Robb and the bird cradled child-like in her arms. When she spoke, her voice contained none of the weakness or hesitance she’d shown earlier._

_“What? No! Of course not. How could you think such a thing?” she chastised. Robb raised his hands apologetically, inviting her to continue. “I climbed up that tree over there,” Lyanna said, gesturing with her chin at a tall oak tree a few yards away. “I saw the nest on that high branch with this mama bird and her little chicks. There was an owl who tried to kill her and her babies, so I fought him off. He scratched me a lot. But he hurt the mama bird more!” Lyanna showed Robb the bird, who’d been heavily scratched on the wing, which was clearly broken too. “She fell and got hurt. Without her, her babies will die. I don’t know what to do, Robb.” Lyanna’s scared tone only served to make Robb more uneasy. It was getting dark, and he wanted to go home. He looked at the branches of the oak tree, searching for the nest. He found it on one of the larger, lower branches, at a perfect height for his sister to climb. The next was reasonably large, and Robb could make out a few tiny chicks twittering for their mother._

_“Maybe we should go home,” Robb suggested. Lyanna was taken aback, and she hurriedly and vehemently disabused him of the notion._

_“I can’t leave! The owl is still here!” Lyanna pointed to another tree, one a bit farther away. There was a large, dark shadow perched high on a branch. Its only point of color was a single yellow eye that maliciously stared at him and Lyanna. “If I leave, he’ll come back for the chicks!” Robb saw a pile of rocks next to Lyanna and figured she’d been using them to keep the bird at a distance. The owl seemed smart enough to keep its distance and wait out Lyanna, bringing their epic battle to a stalemate. Robb didn’t know who would win, a bird of prey trying to find the meal it needed to live or his stubborn sister trying to protect the innocent._

_“You can’t just stay here, Lya!” Robb protested, but Lyanna would have none of it. She pursed her lips and stood her ground, alternating between glaring at Robb and the owl. Even the owl, a monstrous and foreboding shadow that almost looked capable of carrying away one of the children instead should Lyanna refuse to give in, seemed hesitant of crossing the girl. Robb was honestly surprised neither of them died from the force of Lyanna’s furious determination._

_“I won’t leave them here to die! Never! Leave if you want, but I’m staying here for as long as it takes.” Robb sighed and shook his head. He desperately wanted to go back, but he couldn’t leave Lyanna here by herself._

_“Maybe I should get father?” Robb suggested. He figured their father would know what to do. After all, he was wise and honorable. Everyone said so. Hell, Ned Stark was strong enough to scare the owl from the Godswood forever. Then, the sparrows could live in peace and everyone would be happy! Maester Lewin could heal the bird until she was healthy enough to care for her chicks again. It was a foolproof plan. Robb was about to run in the direction of the great keep when, to his complete surprise, Lyanna stopped him._

_“No! You can’t tell father!” Robb was stunned. Lyanna never lied! She never kept secrets, especially from their father. Lyanna was as honest and honorable as the Lord of Winterfell. “He won’t do anything. He’ll say that it’s just the way of the world, and we just have to live with it.” Lyanna snarled these words bitterly, and Robb had a feeling that she was talking about more than injured birds. Robb winced, knowing exactly what Lyanna was referencing._

_“Fine,” Robb conceded, not wanting to start a huge argument right after all that had happened. “What do we do?” Lyanna thought for a bit before pulling at Robb’s tunic. He got the hint and took it off, folding it carefully on the ground. Lyanna gingerly laid the injured sparrow on the fabric before looking at the nest._

_“I’ll get the chicks down, you bring a basket and some linens from the kitchen. Come back here as quick as you can, and we’ll bring them inside. Hurry! It’s getting dark!” Robb wanted to argue, but could tell that nothing would change Lyanna’s mind, so he sprinted back to the keep, wishing Lyanna could go back to trusting their father again._

_It all started in the morning a few days ago when Lyanna and Robb sat in their lessons with Maester Lewin. The topic was houses of the North. Lyanna had clearly studied more than Robb, for she was able to identify all the houses, from the Manderlys of White Harbor to the Umbers of Last Hearth. Further more, she’d studied the sigils and words of the different houses, impressing Maester Lewin with her diligence. Robb had mixed up the Karstarks and the Glovers, which was especially silly in hindsight, since the Karstarks lived in Karhold, which should have been obvious. Either way, Lyanna had been pretty happy with herself, but had one question._

_‘What about House Snow?’ she asked, curiously._

_‘There’s no House Snow, Lya,’ Robb cut in before the Maester could say anything._

_“Of course there must be,” Lyanna tutted. “Which house would I belong to?”_

_“House Stark, of course. Stop being silly, Lya.”_

_“How can I be a Stark if my name is Lya Snow,” Lyanna asked, looking at Robb like he was an idiot. Robb had to concede that she had a good point._

_“But father is a Stark,” Robb pointed out. “That means you’re part of House Stark, just like me, Sansa, and Arya.” Robb thought he had her beat, but Lyanna had an answer for everything, which was to be expected. After all, she’d seemingly read the entirety of the history of the Northern houses._

_“The Karstarks started from the Stark line right?” She turned to Maester Lewin, who looked torn between pride and sadness. He simply nodded, smiling a sad smile at this bright girl who’s hopes he’d have to dash. “That means the first Karstark had a father named Stark. But even still, he wasn’t a Stark. He was a Karstark. I’m not a Karstark, any more than I’m a Mormont or a Bolton. I’m a Snow.” Robb found her argument compelling and conceded with a nod. Lyanna flashed him a smug grin before turning back to Maester Lewin. “So is there a House Snow? Will I be the founder of House Snow? Will I get a keep of my own? I bet it’ll be as big as Winterfell!”_

_“No castle is as big as Winterfell!” Robb boasted proudly. Lyanna just rolled her eyes at his competitiveness._

_“There is no House Snow, Lyanna,” Maester Lewin said gently._

_“I figured that since I couldn’t find it in any books about the North. So, I’ll start House Snow, then?” Lewin shook his head, and Robb could tell he was choosing his next words carefully._

_“The founder of House Karstark was originally named Edwyle Stark. He was a third son of House Stark, and he took the name Karstark when he took over Karhold, but he was still originally a Stark.”_

_“I didn’t know that! That’s interesting! What does that have to do with me, though?” Maester Lewin took a seat next to Lyanna. Robb remembered his mother’s teaching and realized where this conversation._

_“Do you know what a bastard is, Lyanna?” he asked. Lyanna nodded._

_“A bastard is a child who’s mother and father weren’t married.”_

_“Well, bastards in the North whose mothers or fathers are of noble birth are given the surname Snow instead of their parent’s one. The surname varies among each of the Seven Kingdoms. Sand in Dorne, Flowers in the Reach, Hill in the Westerlands, Rivers in the Riverlands, Storm in the Stormlands, Stone in the Vale, Waters in the Crownlands, and Pyke in the Iron Islands.”_

_“I already know I’m a bastard,” Lyanna said. “Lord Stark is my father, but Lady Stark is not my mother. So I’ll take a new name when I start my own House?” Maester Lewin shook his head sadly._

_“Even if you were a boy, it would be difficult, as new keeps would first go to the true-born sons of your father’s bannermen. But as a girl, you wouldn’t start a House of your own. At best, you’d marry a lord or heir of a keep and be the lady of that House. If you were a true-born daughter, that would be a certainty, but as a bastard, you aren’t considered highborn. You would come with no dowry and no ties to House Stark, so I’m afraid the only heirs that would choose to marry you would be ones who couldn’t marry a trueborn girl for one reason or another.” Robb saw Lyanna out of the corner of his eye. She seemed on the verge of tears._

_“Then what is there for me?” Lyanna asked hesitantly._

_“I’m not sure,” Maester Lewin admitted. “It’s rare for a lord to sire a bastard and acknowledge and raise the child. Especially if it’s a girl. Lord Stark is to be commended for his honor. As far as your future, you’d have to ask him. Or Septa Mordane. She’d be able to answer your questions.” Both Lyanna and Robb winced at the mention of the strict, humorless Septa. She seemed especially disdainful of Lyanna and her bastardy, much to Robb’s annoyance. He always figured Lyanna could stay in Winterfell with him. Before Robb could reassure her, Lyanna bolted out of the room, looking for Lord Stark or Septa Mordane._

_Unfortunately for everyone, she found Septa Mordane first._

_What’s worse, Lyanna didn’t see Lady Stark speaking to her._

_“Septa Mordane!” she called out, running to the older woman. “Septa Mordane! I need your help!” Robb trailed after her, wincing when he caught up and saw his mother and Septa Mordane giving Lyanna withering glares._

_“Seven save me,” Septa Mordane muttered. Robb’s mother just tightened her lips, refusing to look at Lyanna. “What do you want, bastard? What nonsense has you shaming your father’s house like this?” Lyanna flinched from Septa Mordane’s rebuke, dropping her eyes to the ground._

_“I apologize for my behavior, Septa Mordane, Lady Stark. I beg your forgiveness.” Robb noticed Sansa standing next to their mother, trying to understand why Lady Stark was so angry. Lyanna must’ve noticed too, for she flashed Sansa a small smile. Robb cringed when Sansa sent Lyanna a mean look, likely figuring Lyanna was the reason for her mother’s abrupt change in mood._

_“What do you want, girl,” Septa Mordane hissed, her eyes narrowing and her lips twisting into an ugly sneer. Robb was glad to be a boy, especially when looking at Septa Mordane, who would’ve been his teacher had he been born a girl._

_“I want to know what will happen to me when I become a woman grown,” Lyanna said bravely. Robb thought she showed true courage by not slinking away with her tail between her legs. “What is in my future?”_

_“What future, bastard?” Mordane hissed. “I’d expect to find you in a whorehouse spreading your legs to every passing man, given your utter lack of manners or dignity. Or putting a knife in your sister’s back, given your jealousy and pretenses of high birth.” Robb stared slack jawed as his mother seemed to agree with the Septa’s accusation. Even Sansa startled at that last part, hiding from Lyanna behind her mother’s dress._

_“I would never do that!”Lyanna protested adamantly._

_“Who are you to contradict me, bastard?” Septa Mordane screeched. Lyanna flinched as of sure had been struck. “Disobedient, rude, lustful, covetous creature! You should be eternally grateful that Lord and Lady Stark let you in their home at all, but like all bastards, you want more and more. Mark my words, you’ll bring ruin to your father’s house. If you could keep from spreading your legs and spawning a hundred bastards of your own, perhaps you’d have a place among the silent sisters. You’re more like to go the way of your whore mother, wantonly seducing married lords and begging on the streets. Know your place, bastard.” With that, she walked off with Lady Stark and Sansa, leaving a distraught Lyanna standing stiff as a board._

_“I need to find father,” she whispered. Robb barely heard her voice, still stunned by the sheer vitriol that came from the Septa. When Lyanna walked down the halls to the Great Hall, where their father held court, Robb followed more by instinct than by intention._

_They found Lord Stark with his nose deep in papers and mighty grown on his face, causing deep wrinkles in his forehead. Whatever he was working on, it must’ve been both important and frustrating, for he clenched and unclenched his jaw tightly and was so engrossed that he didn’t notice Lyanna or Robb until Lyanna gently tugged on his sleeve. Ned looked down, and friendly grey eyes met teary violet ones, and Ned sat Lyanna on his desk._

_“Lya, what’s wrong?” At Ned’s concern, Lyanna buried her head into Ned’s shoulder, soaking his leather doublet in the tears she’d hidden from Septa Mordane and Lady Stark. Lyanna had too much pride to let either of the two women see her cry, but Robb could see how much effort it took for her to keep her distress to herself. Ned looked at Robb, who didn’t know what to do. He didn’t care for Septa Mordane, but he didn’t want to get his mother in trouble. Torn between his mother and his sister, Robb stayed silent, looking at the floor._

_“I don’t want to be a bastard,” Lyanna whispered softly, as if imparting a deep secret. As obvious as it was, Robb could tell Lyanna had revealed her deepest desire, one that haunted her every night. “I don’t want to be a Snow. I want to be a Stark like you and Robb.”_

_“You are a Stark,” Ned insisted. “You may not have my name, but you have my blood.” Normally, that was enough to mollify her, but this time Lyanna shook her head in refusal, her eyes turning to hard amethysts as if to say that Ned’s standard answer wouldn’t be enough this time._

_“But I’m not a Stark,” Lyanna stubbornly persisted. “I can’t wear Stark colors, I can’t sit with the other Starks for meals, I have to hide in my chambers when we have guests. Why? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry. I swear, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise. Please forgive me. I’ll do anything.”_

_“It isn’t your fault, Lya. It’s mine. You’ve done nothing wrong, and there’s nothing to forgive. You trust me, right?” Ned dried Lyanna’s eyes, but they didn’t lose their determination._

_“Then why am I a bastard? Is it because my mother was a whore?” Ned’s head snapped up, and his eyes briefly turned hard._

_“Your mother was not a whore, Lyanna. Who told you that? And how do you know what a whore is?” Ned said tersely. A wiser person would have recognized the irritation in Lord Stark’s tone and backed down before provoking the reserved, taciturn Lord to a rare display of anger. However, Lyanna was stubborn, desperate, and seven, so she persisted, oblivious to how angry her father was becoming. Robb winced, knowing this conversation would not end well._

_“If she wasn’t a whore, who was she? You never tell me anything? I don’t even know her name!” Lya protested. “Why can’t you tell me who she is? Do you hate her? Is she evil?”_

_“Lyanna, enough!” Ned said angrily. “This conversation has continued long enough. Go to your chambers, both of you!” Ned ordered. Robb had never seen his father this angry before, and made to leave, but Lyanna refused to budge. Ned was shocked into near silence by his daughter’s defiance. She’d never acted out like this before._

_“No! Why do I have to be a bastard? Why don’t I get to have a mother? It’s not fair!” shouted Lyanna._

_“The world isn’t fair!” Ned shouted back, snapped out of his shock by this brazen display of insolence. Angrily, he stood up and grabbed Lyanna’s shoulders harshly, picking her up and putting her down on the floor. “The world isn’t fair, but life is what it is, and nothing you can do will change it!” Ned’s face was red from shouting, and Robb was both terrified and thankful that it wasn’t him at the receiving end of his rage. Both Ned and Lyanna stood still for a second, chests heaving, stunned at the way they’d shouted at each other. Before Robb could try to diffuse the situation or pull Lyanna away, she shouted back._

_“It’s all your fault I’m a bastard! It’s all your fault I have no future! It’s all your fault I’ll be kicked out of Winterfell when I’m older! It’s all your fault that I’ll have to beg or become a whore or I’ll starve! It’s all your fault, and you don’t care! I hate you! I hate you, and I wish you weren’t my father. I want my mother instead!” Before either Robb or Ned could respond, Lyanna bolted out of the Great Hall, leaving Robb and his father standing in an awkward, uncomfortable silence. Ned turned to Robb and opened his mouth to say something before thinking better of it and sitting down. He turned his attention back to his papers, not even noticing when Robb awkwardly slipped away._

_That disastrous series of exchanges happened three days ago, and Lyanna refused any contact, taking her meals in her chambers and skipping her lessons with Maester Lewin. Robb knew the maester had worriedly spoken to Lord Stark about her recent behavior, but Lord Stark just told him to give her time to come to terms with everything. Robb thought that this was just an excuse, and the real reason Lord Stark didn’t do anything was that he didn’t know what to say to Lyanna, which was a strangely cowardly reason, if you asked Robb. Then again, Robb could have prevented all of this by standing up for Lyanna when his mother and Septa Mordane said all those horrible things about her or at least by being honest with his father about what had Lyanna so upset. Determined to fix this, Robb doggedly followed Lyanna and sat outside her door when she isolated herself. It wasn’t easy to bring her out. Lyanna refused to speak to anyone for two days, and on the third, the only way Robb could get her to leave her chambers was to ask her to play in the Godswood, where he knew Lyanna always found comfort in times of strife._

_Now, he found himself sneaking back into the kitchens and hiding even more from his father. Robb took a second to wonder how everything had gone so wrong. As if answering his unspoken question, the heavens saw fit to dump a torrential level of rain as soon as he got inside. Robb stared at the rain, which was pouring heavily. He was snapped out of his dismay by the flash of lightning and the boom of thunder. Realizing that Lyanna was in trouble, he raced to his father’s chambers, forgetting his promise to her. She could hate him all she wanted, but Robb wouldn’t care as long as she was safe._

_Robb pounded loudly on his father’s door, fully aware that he’d probably be punished for this later._

_“Father!” he shouted. “Father, help!” Robb heard rushed footsteps on the other side growing louder as they approached the door. Carried away, Robb kept knocking until Ned, somewhere between concern and irritation, slammed open the door._

_“What’s wrong, Robb?” Ned asked, frowning with solemnity. Robb guessed his face probably showed that this was serious business. “Afraid of the storm?”_

_“No! It’s not the storm.” Robb protested immediately. He was no coward, and hadn’t run to his parents to hide from the thunder in years. Then, he realized that technically, it was about the storm. “Ok, it’s the storm. But it’s not me!” Even at seven, Robb knew that his insistence that the storm didn’t scare him was overcompensation. Truthfully, he was scared of the storm; terrified that Lyanna could be hurt, or worse. “Lya is in the Godswood, climbing a tree! She’s trying to rescue some sparrows. But what if she gets hurt? Father, you have to come with me!”_

_“Climbing a tree? In this storm? Gods, what has gotten into that child?” Ned muttered, shaking his head. Robb grabbed him by the hand and led him to the Godswood, nervously rambling as he tried to explain everything that happened in the Godswood._

_They arrived at the oak under a torrential downpour, the inky blackness of the night lit up by momentary, blinding flashes from lightning strikes. Sure enough, Lyanna was clinging desperately onto the branch with the nest, her lips pursed in determination. She was soaked to the bone, her hair clung stubbornly to her face and body in messy tangles. Her arms were still covered in blood, a sticky, dark red that seemed almost black in the night. Every so often, a thunderclap would startle her, making her double precariously. Nevertheless, she kept pressing forward. A few branches above her, the owl perched like a ghost, it’s one eye staring at Lyanna and waiting for her to fall._

_“Lyanna!” Ned shouted. “Come down at once!” Lyanna didn’t answer, instead leveling both Robb and their father with a glare of a viciousness Robb had never dreamed possible from his kind, quiet sister. If looks could kill, there would be two more Starks buried in the crypts underneath Winterfell. Lyanna jutted out her chin and looked forwards. As the thunderclaps grew louder and closer, she reached out with one hand until her fingers brushed the edge of the nest._

_Suddenly, just as she picked up the nest with both hands, a tree several paces to her left exploded, hit by lightning. Startled, Lyanna lost her grip on the branch and fell, just barely holding on to the nest as it slipped from the tree. Robb closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable crunch of Lyanna’s body hitting the ground, but that sound never came. Instead, he saw his lord father holding Lyanna in his arms, a look of fury on his face. He let Lyanna down on her feet, the nest of chirping baby sparrows still clutched in her arms. Robb noticed that his father had his Lord Face on now as he looked at Lyanna, weighing his words carefully. Lyanna kneeled down to pick up the injured mother bird and gently place her with her children, careful not to place too much pressure on that injured wing. She held the nest tightly to her chest and looked Lord Stark straight in the eyes, refusing to avoid his gaze._

_“I’m not sorry,” Lyanna said coldly, meeting her father’s hard eyes with hard ones of her own. For all that Lyanna took after her namesake, her eyes were most definitely not of the Starks of Winterfell. Not only were they a deep, rich tapestry of purples and indigos instead of steely Stark grey or bright Tully blue, they didn’t behave like her father’s either. Normally Lord Stark’s eyes were soft, like the fog that rolled through Winterfell on a cold, stormy morning. Lyanna’s were haunting like Old Nan’s ghost stories, vast like the night’s sky, and deeper than the ocean. When Lord Stark got angry, his eyes would turn cold and hard like the frozen steel of Ice’s blade. Lyanna’s would blaze with fury; even though it was typically in her nature to swallow her anger and brood instead of fighting back, her eyes would betray her, burning like little hot coals._

_“No?” Lord Stark asked. His voice was so quiet Robb could barely hear it, but it was not soft, resembling more the warning growl of a hound prepared to bite. Robb shifted uncomfortably, knowing Lyanna was treading on thin ice. Lord Stark wasn’t a cruel man by any measure, and he loved his children with all of his heart, but he didn’t spoil them. He didn’t tolerate insolence, and was more than willing to punish them for acting out of turn. “You think your recent behavior warrants no explanation, then?”_

_“They would have been killed, Lord Stark. I think that should be explanation enough.” Robb was struck by how much older than her seven years Lyanna sounded. Maybe Maester Lewin was right. Maybe bastards did grow up faster than their trueborn siblings._

_“So you don’t understand why I would be cross with you, Lyanna?” Lord Stark asked icily._

_“You needn’t have come. I didn’t ask you to,” Lyanna retorted, as if the only reason her father could have to be angry was the wetness of his clothes, not the near death of his daughter._

_“Had I not been here to catch you, you would have been lucky to have broken your legs and not your neck!” Lord Stark angrily pointed out._

_“I’m only a bastard,” Lyanna drawled, her usually soft voice harsh and spiked with uncharacteristically cruel sarcasm as if she’d actively sought out the words and tone to hurt her father the most. Robb could see the way his father flinched as if physically struck. Before he or Robb could say anything, Lyanna continued. “I didn’t have a choice. They would have been eaten.” She ground out that last sentence with an air of finality, as if there was nothing more to be said._

_“Lyanna, that is the way of -”_

_“Aye, that’s the way of the world,” Lyanna interrupted, shouting over the booms of thunder. Even under heavy rain, Robb could see that Lyanna was crying, shaking both with sobs and righteous fury. “That’s what you were going to say, right? They would have been killed. Little babies! Eaten because they were born too small and too weak. But you don’t care. All you can say is ‘That’s the way of the world.’ But you’re wrong! That’s not the way of the world! I won’t let it!” Lyanna paused to look down at the birds in her hands. The mother had painfully guided the frightened chicks underneath her to shield them from the rain and storms. Carefully, Lyanna peeled off her soaked tunic and draped it over the nest, not caring that she was now dressed indecently only in trousers._

_“If that’s how the world is, then the world is cruel and evil and wrong! No child should be hurt because they’re born the wrong way. It’s not fair!” She looked down at her feet, hiding the tears welling in her eyes._

_It was then that Robb understood. Why his quiet, solemn, reserved sister was suddenly acting out. Why she’d acted so recklessly, with little regard for her own wellbeing. Why the fate of a few baby sparrows was enough to maybe her disobey her father, something she’d never, ever done. Silently, Robb cursed Septa Mordane for hurting his sister like this, understanding just how deeply the Septa’s words had hurt her. He swore that Lyanna would always have a home in Winterfell. She was a Stark, after all, a Stark just as much as he. And if that meant writing to the King and giving her the Stark name, then that’s what he’d do when he became Lord of Winterfell. As far as Robb was concerned, there was no one who deserved it more that Lyanna._

_Robb looked at his father, who’d softened slightly. He wasn’t standing as straight as before and his jaw had unclenched. He lifted one hand, wincing as Lyanna flinched, and put it on her cheek. Lord Stark knelt down and made Lyanna look him in the eyes._

_“Lyanna,” he began gently. “Lyanna, look at me.”_

_“I did the right thing,” Lyanna said resolutely. “I know I disobeyed you, and you have to punish me, but I did the right thing. They needed me, and I will never turn my back on those who need me. Never.”_

_“Gods Lyanna, what’s gotten into you. You’re not one to act out like this. What happened the other day that made you so upset?” Robb noted that there was little anger in his father’s voice now, only concern._

_“I’m a disgrace to House Stark, and I’m going to be a whore like my mother when I’m forced to leave Winterfell,” Lyanna said dejectedly. Lord Stark reeled._

_“Who the hell told you that?!” he exclaimed. Lyanna just shook her head._

_“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have a future,” Lyanna whispered softly. Robb had to admire her kindness then; even after all that his mother and Septa Mordane had said, she’d refused to get them in trouble with Lord Stark._

_“Of course you do,” Lord Stark said kindly. Lyanna looked up at him with wide eyes. “Do you know why you have my sister’s name, Lyanna?”_

_“I’m a bastard. I don’t deserve your sister’s name,” Lyanna said. Lord Stark just shook his head._

_“You were the first of my children that I held in my arms, did you know that?” Even Robb didn’t know that. He was the oldest, after all. It wouldn’t make sense that his father had held his younger sister first._

_“Robb, you were born in Riverrun while I was off fighting in the Rebellion,” Lord Stark continued, addressing Robb’s question before Robb could ask it. “Though you are older, I didn’t meet you until you and your mother came to Winterfell. Lyanna, though, you I met after your namesake, my younger sister, passed away.” Lord Stark had a sad, faraway look in his eyes, as if he were somewhere else._

_“I didn’t fight in the Rebellion to overthrow the Mad King or put Robert on the Iron Throne. That may be why Robert and Jon Arryn fought, but not me. I fought to bring my sister back home. When I found her dead, it was the worst day of my life. Even worse than when my mother died, or when the Mad King murdered my father and brother. When Lyanna died, I felt truly lost, like the entire war had been for naught.”_

_“But what does this have to do with me?” Lyanna asked._

_“Because not long after she died, I met you for the first time, Lyanna. And you reminded me so much of my sister the day she was born. I knew then that my family wasn’t completely gone, that a part of my sister still lived on, and I had hope again.” Lord Stark pulled Lyanna close to him, hugging her tightly. “You are my daughter, Lyanna, and nothing will change that. Bastard though you may be, I promise you, you have a bright future ahead of you.” Lyanna put the nest down and jumped into her father’s arms, tucking her head into his shoulder._

_“I’m sorry about what I said! I promise I didn’t mean it! I don’t hate you! I love you so much, father!” Lyanna insisted, sounding so much more like the Lyanna Robb knew._

_“Come, let’s get out of the rain. I want Maester Lewin to take a look at those scratches,” Ned said, frowning at Lyanna’s arms. Lyanna flushed sheepishly, still sitting in her father’s arms. Robb gathered up the nest, looking up at the owl, who stared at them from high in his tree._

“What happened to the birds?” Bran asked softly. He had a serene look, on the verge of falling asleep. Arya and Rickon were already fast asleep.

“Well, Maester Lewin healed the mother and we put them somewhere in the Wolfswood a few days later,” Robb answered. “They’re all grown up now.” Bran accepted this answer, burrowing deeper in his furs next to Arya and Rickon.

“What about the owl?” Bran asked. Robb was impressed with his perceptiveness. He didn’t think Arya would have thought to ask about the owl. “You said he only had one eye? What if he couldn’t find any other food? Wouldn’t he starve?”

Robb leaned back, remembering the end of his story.

 

_He was finishing drying his hair when he spotted Lyanna sneaking from her room, her arms covered in linen bandages. Robb frowned, wondering where she could possibly be going at this hour. He contemplated saying something, but he shook his head and silently followed her down to the kitchens. Lyanna said something quietly to the cook, who handed her a covered whicker basket. Lyanna peeked inside before thanking the cook profusely. As she left, she bumped into Robb, startling him. Lyanna jumped back with a squeak of surprise._

_“What are you doing here?” they both asked at the same time. Robb and Lyanna shared a laugh before Lyanna showed him the basket. Robb lifted the cloth cover and looked inside before jumping back in horror. Inside the basket were several large rats._

_“Seven hells, Lya! Why do you have rats?!” he exclaimed before Lyanna shushed him._

_“They’re dead, you big baby,” she admonished. Robb stuck out his tongue at her teasing. “I’m taking them to the Godswood.” Lyanna brushed past him like that was all the explanation he needed. Unsatisfied, Robb followed, grabbing her elbow._

_“What? Why?! Are you giving them a burial?” Lyanna looked at him with a cocked eyebrow, a habit she must’ve inherited from her mother, for no one else Robb knew did that. She looked at him with unamused amethyst eyes, as if what he said was the stupidest thing she’d ever heard._

_“No, I’m not burying them. I’m giving them to the owl so he has something to eat,” she drawled, drawing each word out in the bossy tone she only really took with Robb. She pulled free and marched down the halls and past the gate. It was still raining, and Robb realized with a lament that he was going to get another set of clothes wet._

_“What?! Are you mad! The owl tried to kill the sparrows – tried to kill you! What are you thinking, Lya?” Robb protested loudly as Lyanna stepped into the rain. She stopped and turned around, leveling him with a glare._

_“He only had one eye,” she said coolly._

_“What of it?” Robb said, eyeing the rainy courtyard. He was warm and dry, and he had no inclination to change either._

_“Didn’t you wonder why he was so insistent on attacking the nest?” she asked. ‘Not really,’ Robb thought dully. “He only has one eye, so he can’t see as well. He’s an owl. Without his sight he can’t hunt well.”_

_“But…” Lyanna cut his protests off._

_“I’m taking these dead rats to him so he can eat. It’s my fault he’s going hungry, anyways.”_

_“But it’s raining!” Robb whined. “We just got dry!”_

_“Honestly, Robb! Stay inside if the rain frightens you so! I’m going, and that’s final!” She spun around and ran down the courtyard to the entrance of the Godswood. Robb noted that the guard who should have been posted there had left his post, no doubt seeking warmth like a sane man._

_Robb swore, looked around to make sure no one could hear his foul language and report him to his mother, and ran after her, flinching as he felt the rain soak him again to the bone._

“You fed the owl!” Bran asked incredulously. Robb grinned and nodded his head.

“Aye, we did. Lyanna shared your concern and we snuck out again.”

“Was the owl still there?” Bran asked curiously. Robb nodded his head, stifling a yawn with his fist. _Gods, it was late_.

“Why did she do that? Why did she do any of that?” Bran asked, a question Robb remembered pondering as he watched his sister risk her neck for a few birds.

“Do you know the vows a knight swears?” Robb asked, seemingly changing the subject.

“In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden I charge you to protect all women,” Bran recited. Robb grinned. His younger brother always dreamed of being a knight.

“Aye. When you become a knight, you’ll swear those vows. Lyanna too. I just wanted to tell you a story of her living up to those vows.” Bran nodded in understanding.

“Defending the young and innocent, right?” he said sleepily. _Finally. Thank the Old Gods and the New._ “Good night, Robb,” Bran whispered softly as he closed his eyes. Robb grinned, slowly easing himself out of his chair. He gave Bran a soft pat on the head before walking out, taking great care to close the door.

As Robb walked to his room, he stopped by Lyanna’s abandoned chambers. For some reason, he felt compelled to look inside. He’d never been in Lyanna’s room once they got their own chambers, and he was curious to see how she kept her room. Robb walked in, looking around. There wasn’t much left – she’d taken everything interesting with her when she went to Dorne. The furs and linens had been taken from her bed and her wardrobe emptied, but this was still Lyanna’s room. After all, she was coming back, right?

Robb’s attention was drawn by a hooting sound. He looked to the window and couldn’t help but laugh. Framed by the full moon stood a large black owl with one golden eye.

“You?!” Robb said incredulously. “How long has my sister been feeding you behind my father’s back?”

“Not very long, actually,” a voice startled him. Robb could hear the slight smile. He turned around and hugged his father tightly.

“When did you and mother get here?” Robb asked happily. He was more than tired of being the Stark in Winterfell.

“Just now. Your mother went to sleep, but I had to come attend to Twigs over here,” his father said, gesturing at the owl, who inclined his head in recognition. Robb looked stunned, eyes darting from the owl to his father to the heavy glove in his hands.

“Twigs?” he asked accusingly. “She named the owl Twigs? When – how - why?” his father laughed in the face of his outraged stammering.

“In her defense, she was six at the time. The cooks tell me the owl followed her back from the Godswood and made its home here.”

“And they allowed it?” Robb asked, surprised.

“Aye, they have nothing but love for their new rat catcher,” his father grinned. He held out his gloved hand and the owl flew over, claws gripping on the heavy fabric. “I just came to take our friend to the grainery so he can get to work, since Lyanna’s not here to do so.” Robb shook his head, trying to keep the smile from his face.

“I’m coming too,” Robb said with a yawn. “When did you learn about this, father?” he demanded. “I would have loved an owl!”

“You have a direwolf, son,” his father reminded him. “A horse too. What other beasts do you need?”

“A mammoth named Tusks, a dragon named Winter, an ice spider named Frostfangs,” Robb rambled excitedly.

“Okay, okay, I understand. You and your siblings would shelter half the creatures of Westeros in your rooms if I didn’t keep watch,” he laughed. “I would appreciate your help with Twigs, though. I can’t come here every night.” Robb grinned as Twigs nipped affectionately at his finger.

“I can do that, father,” Robb said, already planning his next letter. “just until my knightly sister comes back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is a bit of an interlude before the more plotty stuff during Arianne's birthday bash. The chapter was originally supposed to be a series of smaller stories, but this story went on extra long. I do kind of like it, though.
> 
> Also, there are over 5,000 views and more than 200 kudos on this. That's insane. Thanks so much for all the support! Loving all the feedback.
> 
> Next time: The Celebration at Sunspear part 1: Doran's Test


	6. The Celebration at Sunspear Part 1: Doran's Test

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Princess Arianne's nameday feast, Lyanna makes a bet with Prince Doran before the festivities begin.

 

 

**Lyanna**

Lyanna hated traveling.

Well, that wasn’t _entirely_ true. Lyanna loved riding. Every morning, she and Ned took Silverwing and Ghost out for a ride. Prince Oberyn was always impressed by her ability on a mount, so much so that he vowed to take her East one day, to race against the Dothraki. Lyanna also loved sailing. The ship from White Harbor to Sunspear had been rough at first, but Lyanna soon found her sea legs. There was something captivating about the open sea, and Lyanna started pestering Starfall’s sailors for lessons. She and Ned got in trouble with their grandfather on more than one occasion for taking a boat across the bay without permission. Lyanna especially loved sand-sailing, and she definitely planned on racing over the dunes with Elia Sand outside the shadow city after the festivities.

Lyanna also loved visiting new places. Lyanna had been pestering Master Qarro to take her to Braavos for months, and he finally promised that one day, if she trained exceptionally diligently without complaint, he’d take her to visit _his_ teacher, Syrio Forel. She desperately wanted to ride over the Red Mountains and explore the Reach and challenge the famously gallant knights of Houses Tyrell and Tarly, or travel north to the Stormlands and see Storm’s End, the impregnable castle supposedly built by the same people who built Winterfell. Ali had laughed at that request, saying the Tyrells’ dislike of the Dornish was great enough without a wild she-wolf embarrassing their best knights, but Aunt Ira disagreed, surprisingly enough. She said that if Lyanna behaved properly, there was no reason why she couldn’t accompany Prince Oberyn the next time he went to Highgarden to visit his friend Willas Tyrell.

So, if Lyanna loved visiting new places as well as the means to get there, one could be forgiven for wondering what she was complaining about. Allyria Dayne certainly did, and she voiced that question with the most annoyed tone she could muster, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder in irritation. The answer, of course, was the carriage.

Lyanna hated the carriage.

She hated the rickety wheels that sounded like they were going to fall off. She hated the lavish purple and silver paint that covered the bloody monstrosity. She hated the cushions that were either too hard or too soft. She hated the way the carriage jumped and jarred and jostled with each bump on the road. She hated how the axle got stuck every five minutes. She hated how the carriage moved at the _slowest possible pace_. She hated how much _better_ Silverwing would feel underneath her.

And she absolutely detested her ass of a cousin for slowing his pony to a trot so he could ride by the carriage and taunt her.

“Enjoying the ride, Lya?” Ned asked, mocking her with a wink of his ocean-blue eyes. Lyanna bit back the swear on her tongue, resigning herself to looking forlornly at him. His horse was dappled grey, a bit larger than Silverwing, and she could almost feel the muscles of the horse’s back between her thighs as she spurred it on. Ned held the reins lightly, laughing at the way Lyanna’s fingers twitched involuntarily. Lyanna was even envious of his short pale-blonde hair and the way he wore his hair free while hers was trapped in a complicated Dornish style. The only thing she wasn’t jealous of was Ned’s sword. She wore Frostbite on her back, the scabbard tied through the fabrics of her dress. It wasn’t the same as Ned wearing his on his hip, but Lyanna guessed she couldn’t complain.

“This is the worst,” Lyanna groaned, poking her head out of the cabin window. “Please. Take me with you.” Ned laughed, sticking his hand past Lyanna to pet Ghost, who’s head lay on Allyria’s lap. She was lucky Ghost had recently been shorn and bathed, else there would be white hairs all over her dress.

“I would, but you’re a proper lady now. You’re too dainty and delicate to wear trousers and ride fast,” Ned teased, adjusting the fabric hat on his head. Now that he was old enough to carry steel, Ali made him wear one of those silly poofy hats. Lyanna had to admit that it suited Ned, though. That didn’t stop her from reaching out the window and pulling the hat from his head, exposing his freshly clipped hair. _Dainty and delicate my ass_ , she thought angrily. Ned’s horse whinnied in protest as he bumped up against the carriage, trying to take the hat back.

“Give it back, Lya,” he whined. Lyanna stuck her tongue out in response, putting the chaparone on her head.

“I don’t see why you wear this,” Lyanna said, wrinkling her nose. “It’s so silly and poofy. It makes you look like a pretty little girl.”

“ _You_ look like a pretty little girl,” Ned retorted.

“Thanks, Ned,” Lyanna said sweetly, fluttering her eyes. “I’m glad you think I look pretty.” Ned flushed and stammered.

“I don’t think you’re pretty,” he stammered, face reddening impressively.

“ _Thanks, Ned_ ,” Lyanna drawled sarcastically. “I got all dressed up for you and you can’t even appreciate it.”

“Lyanna,” Aunt Ira said sternly, snatching the hat from her head and handing it to Ned, who crowed triumphantly as he put it on. “Sit down properly and focus. We need to review the Lords and Ladies you’ll meet in Sunspear.” She looked at Ned, who gave her his most endearing, pleading look. “Stop bothering your cousin, Edric,” she said, unamused.

“But mother dearest,” Ned protested. Aunt Ira cocked her brow and he shut up with a squeak.

“Wait, Ned,” Lyanna called. “Promise me we’ll go riding later. Proper riding, none of this carriage nonsense.” Ned laughed and patted her cheek, making Lyanna feign a swoon.

“For you, Lady Lyanna, I think I can arrange such a ride,” he said with mock formality, kissing her knuckles. Lyanna bit back an unladylike snort.

“Promise me, Ned,” she called as he rode off to join his father and grandfather. “Promise me, Ned. Promise me,” she said softer and softer, finishing in a whisper. Lyanna sat back down, looking sheepish under Allyria’s laughter and her Aunt Ira’s shaking head. She could hear Ira whisper something that sounded like ‘ _like trying to teach her mother’_ , and she had to bite back a grin.

“If you are quite finished,” Ira said, “tell me about House Fowler.”

“Lord Franklyn Fowler is the lord of Skyreach. He has two daughters, twins, named Jeyne and Jennelyn. Lord Fowler is called the Warden of the Prince’s Pass because Skyreach is located where the Prince’s Pass opens into Dorne. He’s got power over anyone who travels between Dorne and the Reach by land, which is why Grandfather met with Lady Blackmont to discuss travelling along the Torrentine instead of the Pass. Everyone hates him because he charges tolls on travelers through the Pass. This is why lots of lords want their sons to marry Jeyne or Jennelyn Fowler.” Ira nodded approvingly. “Oh, and Lord Fowler hates Lord Dagos Manwoody of Kingsgrave because he thinks the Manwoodys want more control the Pass.”

“Very good, Lyanna,” Ira said with a smirk. “Is Lord Franklyn being paranoid, or does he have a point?”

“Considering the Yronwoods and the Manwoodys want to build a path from the mouth of the Red River through the side of the mountains to the middle of Pass north of Skyreach, I think his suspicion is justified,” Lyanna replied, remembering Prince Doran asking her to sit in on and transcribe the meeting between Ser Myles Manwoody, Gwenyth Yronwood, and Quentyn Martell regarding construction of the road, one that would give the Western Dornish houses a way around Lord Fowler’s exorbitant tolls. The talks had been a great bore; both Ser Myles and Lady Gwenyth made their disdain for the young Northern girl quite apparent. Lyanna wondered how anyone could listen to Quentyn drone on and on about the virtues of trade and the beauty of Yronwood without falling asleep, but Doran had complemented her on the quality of her notes, so she took everything in stride. Quentyn’s strange attempts at courtship with Lady Gwenyth were a horror to recall, though.

“Good. House Toland?”

“Lady Nymella Toland is the Lady of Ghost hill. Her eldest is Valena Toland and her youngest is Teora Toland,” Lyanna recited. “Ghost Hill sits close to the Sea of Dorne, next to the Broken Arm. Lady Toland wants to build Ghost Hill as a port but can’t because of the mountains nearby. Everyone who sails to the South of the Sea of Dorne just goes to the Tor instead because the port is less treacherous.”

“House Uller?”

“Lord Harmen Uller is the lord of Hellholt. His brother is Ser Ulwyck Uller and his son and heir is Homan Uller. Lord Harmen Uller is also Auntie Ellaria’s father.”

“Very good,” Ira said.

“Also, half the Ullers are half-mad, the others are worse,” Lyanna said cheekily. Allyria snorted and even Ira had to conceal a smile.

“Ali would’ve told you that. He fought a duel against Ulwyck Uller when he was sixteen. Know why?” Lyanna shook her head. Ali never mentioned a duel, though it sounded like something he’d do. “It was over a woman, of course. Ali and Ser Ulwyck were both in love with the daughter of Maise Delmot, Harmen Uller’s steward.” Lyanna gasped as Ira spoke of her husband’s first love so casually. Lady Stark would never have been this kind to her mother. “They dueled as sunset for her love. Of course, neither of them told the poor woman.” Allyria giggled, knowing where this was going. “So when Ali went up to her, told her he’d won the duel and asked her to marry him, she promptly told him no.”

“So what did he do then?” Lyanna asked, laughing.

“Oh, he strutted around Hellholt for a year, pestering the girl, until finally…” she paused for dramatic effect.

“Finally?”

“Harmen Uller kicked him out of Hellholt. Told him never to return again!” Lyanna and Allyria were over the moon with laughter, echoing around the carriage.

“So he finally gave up?” Lyanna asked. Allyria snorted.

“My brother doesn’t know the meaning of the words,” she laughed.

“After Ali was forced to leave, your mother and Princess Elia came to visit Hellholt,” Ira said, “with a letter for the poor girl. Of course, Lord Uller couldn’t deny the Ruling Princess’s daughter entry, but I think he guessed their intentions when he saw Ashara.”

“Do you know what was in the letter?” Lyanna asked hesitantly. She hoped she didn’t overstep with her question, but Aunt Ira didn’t so much as bat an eye, while Allyria seemed to have great difficulty covering her laughs. _How Aunt Ira speaks so easily about this woman I will never understand._

“Oh, it was very long. Lots of _you shine brighter than the sun_ and _my heart yearns for the day when I may gaze upon the beauty of your visage_. You wouldn’t expect Ali to be a poet, but what he lacks in natural ability he makes up for in persistence,” Allyria said, shaking her head. “With Princess Elia there, she couldn’t very well through the letter into the fire. She wrote back three sentences, one for each page Ali sent her. In short, I don’t think she was impressed.”

“Ouch,” Lyanna said, wincing. “How did Uncle Ali take it?”

“He sent Ashara back with another letter a moon later,” Ira replied. “The pattern persisted for almost _three years_.”

“Wow. You weren’t japing about the persistence,” Lyanna noted. “Three years?”

“Three years indeed,” Ira agreed. “Finally, the poor girl’s father asked her why she persisted in denying the affections of the heir to Starfall. Maise and his wife all but dragged her to Starfall to meet Ali when-”

“-you found Uncle Ali, Uncle Oberyn, and Ser Arthur naked on the banks of the Torrentine,” Lyanna cut in, completely forgetting her matters. Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, you’re Maise Delmot’s daughter?”

“Of course!” Allyria laughed. “I was wondering how long it would take you to figure that out.”

“What, do you find it hard to believe that men would fight for my affections?” Ira asked, feigning indignance. “I’ll have you know, I was considered quite beautiful in my youth,” she said over Lyanna’s stammering protests. “Anyways – mind your manners, Lyanna. Don’t interrupt me – there’s a reason why I told you this story.” Lyanna shivered under Ira’s analytical, scrutinizing gaze. “You are quite young, but you are quite beautiful, and you can be very charming. There’s a strong likelihood that more than one Lord will try to betroth you to his son. If you use your wits, you will be surprised by how high you can rise. You can be the lady of many different keeps, not just Starfall.” That last thought caught Lyanna’s attention.

“Lady of Starfall? But, how…” Lyanna trailed off, confused.

“Oh, that. I suggested to Ali that you and Edric marry one day. We agreed that it would be a possibility, seeing as you two have become close. You need not if you don’t want to, though,” Ira said, waving off the question. “But that’s a discussion for another day. Thirteen is far too young for marriage, in my opinion.” Lyanna wrinkled her nose, trying to imagine marrying Ned. _That’s gross. I mean, that’s like marrying Robb, right?_

“I know that Cletus Yronwood wants to marry you,” Ira said. “He’s not the heir to Yronwood, so you may choose to overlook him, but he’s close with Prince Quentyn, and I know Prince Quentyn has been pushing to rebuild Vulture’s Roost for a while now, so Cletus may be the lord of his own castle one day.”

“But what if I don’t want to marry anyone?” Lyanna asked. She understood the value of strategic marriages in Dornish politics, but the idea of marrying someone she barely knew or didn’t love made her very uncomfortable. She knew that her father wouldn’t just trade her like some sort of broodmare, right? “What if I want to fall in love?”

“First of all,” Allyria said, “there’s nothing wrong with not wanting to marry just yet. Look at me or Princess Arianne! I’ve turned down quite literally dozens of suitors, and I know that someone new asks in vain for the Princess’s hand every day. And it would take more than a dragon to force Prince Oberyn to marry.”

“So, if I meet someone I love one day?” Lyanna asked.

“There’s a reason why I agreed to marry Ali,” Ira said affectionately, as the man in question slowed down to the carriage’s pace. “It had little to do with Starfall.” Ali leaned in to kiss Ira right on the lips, and Allyria and Lyanna stuck out their tongues, wrinkled their noses, and made disgusted noises. Ira went for a quick peck, but Ali pulled her close and deepened the kiss with an uncomfortable amount of passion. When they finally broke apart, Lyanna noticed a slight pink on Ira’s cheeks.

“What have the most important ladies in my life been discussing?” Ali asked, smirking. Lyanna could definitely see where Ned got his cheek.

“Is it true that you tried to court Aunt Ira for _four years_?” Lyanna asked with exaggerated incredulity. Allyria laughed loudly at the way Ali immediately turned bright red. Even Ira gave her a chuckle.

“Ok, it wouldn’t have taken that long if it wasn’t for those damn Ullers,” Ali grumbled darkly.

“But you were in Hellholt for a year!” Lyanna protested. “I can understand why they might have been upset.”

“See how my own niece attacks me?” Ali said dramatically. “After all I’ve done for her. I let her bring her sword and this is how she repays me?” He turned to Allyria and Ira. “You two have turned her with your wicked womanly ways, he accused.

“You seemed quite amenable to Ira’s womanly ways just now,” Allyria pointed out. Lyanna made a face at the implication.

“Anyways, I’m sure you can forgive the Harmen Uller,” Ira drawled. “It’s been almost twenty years.”

“Have you forgotten what they did?” Ali exclaimed.

“Aye, they kicked you out of Hellholt,” Lyanna said, glaring at Allyria when she giggled. _Aye?_ Allyria whispered. _Still a Northerner I see._

“They didn’t just kick me out. They tied me up and made my horse drag me halfway to Starfall. I was nearly set upon by bandits,” Ali insisted indignantly. He put a hand on the scimitar at his hip and pouted. “Bloody mad, the lot of them are.”

“We’re almost at Sunspear,” Ira said, pointing to the two towers of Sunspear, which had emerged from the sands. “Go back to the front and leave use to get ready,” she told him sternly.

“Ok, my eternal love,” Ali said. “But I will need something to sustain me during this long absence.” _Long absence?_ Lyanna thought dryly. Before Ira could say anything, Ali pulled her close and kissed her deeply again for what felt like an eternity.

“You two are disgusting,” Allyria said, rolling her eyes as the two continued. Lyanna agreed, wrinkling her nose and turning away when she saw Ali’s hand mischievously wandering past Ira’s hip

“Behave yourself, Ali,” Ira scolded, pulling away and slapping Ali’s hand away from where it had naughtily gripped her bum. Lyanna noted a slightly breathless tone from her stern, demanding Aunt.

“Fine,” Ali mock pouted. “We’ll continue that later,” he said, riding off with a wink. Lyanna noted that Ira didn’t correct him. _Married for love indeed_ , she thought with a grin.

 

 

Lyanna was quite pleased with the honor guard the Martells sent to meet the Daynes. Oberyn rode atop a black sand steed – Blood Adder, it was called – next to Nymeria, Tyene, and Elia. They were dressed in the fanciest livery, all orange and yellow and red. Lady Nym’s dress wasn’t as ornate as Lyanna’s but Lyanna found herself quite jealous of that. Lady Nym’s was less conservative, with more importance placed on comfort and movement. Lyanna’s, by contrast, seemed designed for one of Sansa’s dolls rather than a living, breathing woman. Tyene’s dress left little to the imagination, to absolutely no one’s surprise. Just as unsurprisingly, Elia wore breeches and a tunic with the sleeves cut off. Her face was red with exertion and there was sand in her messy, frizzy hair. Lyanna guessed enviously that she’d been sand-sailing and wondered if everyone in Dorne was having fun while she was trapped in the carriage. Behind them, Mellario stood next to Aero Hotah, Prince Quentyn, and Prince Trystane. Quentyn looked bored and eager to get back, but Trystane, always kind and sweet, was excited to see them.

“Ned! Lya! I missed you!” he shouted, running to greet them as Ned dismounted and Lyanna scrambled out of the carriage. He gave her a tight hug, and Lyanna noted with not a little amount of annoyance that he’d grown since she’d last been in Sunspear. Tris was of an age with Arya, and Lyanna wondered if Arya too had grown this much since she’d left Winterfell.

“Tris! You’re so tall!” Lyanna exclaimed as he pulled away. “Gods, when did this happen?” Ned laughed, amused by his shorter cousin. He’d also started to grow, and Lyanna quickly found herself to be the shortest of her family.

“You haven’t been here in near six moons, Lya,” Trystane pouted. “It wouldn’t be as much of a surprise if you visited more.”

“That’s fair,” Lyanna admitted. “So, are there a lot of knights?” she asked. Immediately, Trystane broke into a huge grin.

“There are so many!” he exclaimed. “They all have armor and swords and everything. Father says we’re going to have the biggest feast he’s ever seen!” Trystane looked at Ned’s sword. “Ned! You brought your sword! Can I see?” Ned grinned, unbuckled his sword belt, and handed it over. Trystane pulled out the sword and stared awestruck at its golden blade. Lyanna whistled. It was a truly fancy blade, given to Ned by their grandfather.

“Lya brought Frostbite too,” Ned said. Trystane looked Lyanna up and down, trying to find the sword. Lyanna just grinned and twirled, showing off Frostbite on her back.

“Alright, Tris,” Mellario said, finishing up a conversation with Aunt Ira and Grandfather. Ali and Oberyn were arguing dramatically over something or another, like they were wont to do, and everyone just ignored them. “Give Edric his sword and let us escort them inside. I’m sure it must have been a tiring journey.” She gave Lyanna a knowing look and Lyanna flushed.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Ira said, shaking her head. “The carriage broke down when we passed through the Red Mountains and it’s still rickety. I think we’ll need a new one for the return journey. And a certain young lady,” she said, pinning Lyanna down with a stern look, “nearly drove us all half mad with her restlessness and complaining. Even Ghost was well behaved!” Lyanna groaned, looking at how Ghost padded quietly next to them, his tongue lolling out and tail wagging furiously. The direwolf gave her a smug look. _He’s too smart for his own good_ , Lyanna thought.

“Ha! I remember how Ashara and Elia would chatter for _hours_. Drove her mother completely insane,” Mellario chuckled. She scratched Ghost under the jaw.

“Ghost has grown a lot,” Trystane commented. The direwolf was as tall as a pony, and he could get up onto his hind legs and lick Prince Oberyn’s face.

“Is he going to grow more?” Elia asked, gripping her reins tighter when her horse shuffled, uncomfortable with the direwolf’s presence.

“I don’t know,” Lyanna admitted. “I think so. Maester Lewin back in Winterfell thinks that Ghost, Grey Wind, and Shaggydog could grow as large as a war horse. Maester Corlyn of Starfall thinks Ghost could be even bigger, like an aurochs!”

“Luckily he’s so well behaved,” Allyria said, running a hand through Ghost’s fur. “Gods save us if he was as unruly as Lya!” Allyria winked as Lya stuck her tongue out. Lya tried to protest but tripped and nearly fell into the dirt. Only her grandfather’s hands saved her from ruining her dress just a few minutes after their arrival.

“Lyanna. We spent so many moons fitting you for that dress and hours getting you ready. At least _try_ not to make a mess of yourself,” Ira chastised. Beric laughed, his eyes twinkling as he helped Lyanna right herself.

“Sorry, Aunt Ira,” Lyanna said sheepishly. Elia, Tyene, and Lady Nym walked alongside her, holding the reins of their horses, while Trystane and Edric started debating the merits of the knights who’d already arrived.

“I half expected you to come dressed like Elia, Lya,” Tyene teased, blowing a blonde lock out of her face. Lyanna resisted the urge to mess with her own hair, keeping her hands balled up.

“I wanted to, but Aunt Ira says I must _present myself_ with elegance and grace,” Lyanna drawled. She kept her hands on her dress, trying to keep it from the dust and sand as they walked through the bazaar to the palace.

“Hey!” Elia protested. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of elegance and grace.” Lady Nym snorted loudly and Lyanna and Tyene fell into giggles. Elia tried to look indignant, but she couldn’t help but grin toothily.

“I don’t think I’ll ever see you in a dress, Elia,” Lyanna laughed. Elia ran a hand through her dark, frizzy hair. Lyanna couldn’t imagine Ellaria Sand forcing Elia’s into anything other than a messy braid or dressing the girl in silks and finery. She felt strange walking next to Elia, one dressed up and decorated and fake, the other disheveled and _real_.

“Can’t argue with that,” Elia hummed, and the two fell into a companionable silence until Tyene broke it with a joke.

“So, Lya,” the blonde sand snake asked mischievously, “how long did it take for you to get dressed?”

“ _Hours_ ,” Lyanna groaned, ignoring the way Ira glanced at her and shook her head exasperatedly. She was speaking with Mellario, no doubt about how difficult it was to get Lyanna to look like a proper lady. “There’s so much that goes into this dress. And my hair! Gods!” she huffed, trying to keep from shaking her head and ruining all that work.

“How long will Cletus Yronwood need to take it off?” Tyene smirked. Lyanna’s eyes widened in disgust.

“Tyene!” she gasped, her cheeks burning.

“What?” Tyene asked innocently, “you didn’t dress like this just for him?”

“Of course not,” Lyanna snapped. “I didn’t dress like this for anyone!”

“Sure,” Tyene said. “I bet you’ll be underneath him before the night is over.” She and Elia laughed. Lyanna tried to protest, but Lady Nym came to her rescue.

“Enough of that, Tyene,” she said. “You look nice, Lya,” she added kindly. “I know you’ll be one of the most beautiful ladies there. I’d wager you’ll have your pick of all the boys at the feast.” Nymeria smirked at Lyanna’s widened eyes.

“Lady Nym! I don’t want the attention of any of the boys!” Nymeria pretended to contemplate this.

“Oh? Well, I’m sure most of the girls would be interested too,” Nymeria said with a sly wink. Lyanna’s face turned red and she sputtered.

“Sweet little Lya’s too young for you, Nym,” Tyene said. “Besides, aren’t Jeyne and Jennelyn enough to sate you?” Lyanna would’ve thought Nymeria would be embarrassed by the remark about the Fowler twins, but Nymeria just grinned unabashedly. She certainly was Prince Oberyn’s daughter. Tyene looked Lyanna over again. “You do have the right of it, though. I would say she’d manage even better in a different dress. One with a more generous neckline.”

“Tyene!” Lyanna exclaimed, scandalized again.

“What?” Tyene said indignantly. “You look like a septa.”

“That didn’t stop our father from siring you,” Nymeria drawled. She said that a little too loudly, and Prince Oberyn heard the remark. Lyanna didn’t expect him to roar in laughter. Ali and Allyria joined in, and Beric couldn’t help but grin and shake his head. Mellario and Ira were notably less than amused, though.

“Nymeria! Tyene! Don’t corrupt Lyanna with your mischief.” Mellario called, in a good imitation of Aunt Ira. Both Nymeria and Tyene seemed to find her attempt to look stern more amusing than intimidating. Lyanna had to agree; there was something funny about the bighearted, kind Mellario of Norvos trying to tame her good-brother’s wild daughters.

“What do you mean, dear Auntie Mellario?” Tyene asked sweetly. Lyanna didn’t know where Tyene learned her innocent, saccharine affect, but it was unnerving how disarming she could be when she tried to appear harmless. Mellario wasn’t convinced, though. She looked Tyene up and down and shook her head.

“Lyanna,” she called, ignoring Tyene altogether. “Feel free to ignore my nieces. The Gods know they cause no end of headaches on their own.”

“We promise not to poor sweet little Lya astray,” Nymeria chuckled.

“Yes. On our honor as daughters of a Prince of Dorne,” Tyene added, putting a hand over her heart. Mellario snorted at the word _honor_ but didn’t say anything.

“Anyways, where are Obara and Sarella?” Lyanna asked Elia.

“What, are we three not enough?” Elia retorted, feigning hurt.

“Of course not!” Lyanna said, quick to dispel the notion. “I was just curious, is all.” She grabbed Elia’s hand. “It really is good to see you. It has been too long, and I’ve missed you.”

“It was merely a jape, Lya!” Elia laughed. “But I missed you too. As for Obara and Sarella, you’ll see them tonight. Sarella is helping with the preparations and Obara is sleeping. She returned this morning.”

“Where was she anyways?” Lyanna asked, curious. Obara hadn’t been in Sunspear when Lyanna had last been in the city, and Lyanna wondered where she was.

“Pentos,” Elia answered, rolling her eyes. “Among sellswords, can you believe it? Call themselves _the Stormcrows_.”

“My father says sellswords have no honor,” Lyanna remarked, remembering sitting with Robb on their lord Father’s knees before the fire as he talked long into the night, lulling them to sleep with his Northern burr. _Fight for family_ , he would say. _Fight for duty. Fight for honor. Fight for your people, your homes, your health. When winter comes, there is much to fight for, much to lose. But gold? What are a few coins to a man’s life. What price is worth staining a blade with the blood of a father, a brother, or a son? He who sells his sword sells his soul as well, and never for a fair price._

“Neither do my sisters,” Elia retorted. “Obara did say that the next she sees you, she expects more of a challenge.” Lyanna groaned, remembering the numerous times Obara’s spear forced Frostbite from her hands. Elia eyed the sword on Lyanna’s back. “I take it you have a similar idea?”

“I wish,” Lyanna said, with just a hint of bitterness. “I promised Aunt Ira I would take care of all _this_ ,” she said, gesturing to her dress, hair, and powders. “She and Auntie Allyria did work hard, and I don’t want to ruin it,” she admitted.

“You do look beautiful, Lya,” Elia said kindly, gently touching one of the elegant ringlets, which had been tied with lavender lace. “But what use is a sword if you don’t use it?”

“I take Frostbite wherever I go,” Lyanna said. “I’d feel naked without it.”

“I would feel the same without my knives,” Nymeria said, jutting back into the conversation. Lyanna noted that while Nymeria did hide her knives well, you could see where hilts jutted against her dress at her hips, her thighs, and her legs. “Though Obara will be disappointed to know that you don’t intend to show us your dancing.”

“It’s not dancing!” Lyanna protested. Nymeria cocked an eyebrow, and Lyanna had to admit, “fine, it’s dancing. But it’s deadly dancing, and I’ve gotten much better at it.”

“Maybe you’ll show us, then?” Elia said. “I want to see what my father has accomplished by neglecting his daughters.”

“I have not been neglecting my daughters!” Oberyn cut in. “I am an excellent father.”

“You let Obara join a sellsword company in Essos,” Lyanna pointed out. “Lord Stark would never let Robb do that, let alone me.”

“That’s different,” Oberyn insisted. “Obara’s a grown woman. And I take perfect care of all of my daughters.”

“You’ve spent most of your time in Starfall since Lyanna came here, papa,” Elia pointed out.

“Yes father,” Nymeria said. “When I tell people you’ve found a girl in Starfall who takes all of your time, I think they half expect Lya to give you another sand snake!” Oberyn coughed and reddened, and Lyanna noticed the effort he took to distance himself from her uncle and grandfather.

“That’s gross, Lady Nym,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Uncle Oberyn is practically related. And he’s too old!” Oberyn opened his mouth to respond to the reference to his age, but a warning glance from Ali shut him up.

Neither Nymeria nor Tyene seemed put off by the _almost related_ reasoning, and Lyanna dimly recalled Nym all but admitting to taking both Fowler twins as lovers. Now, Lyanna found Dornish culture quite liberating, and she didn’t see anything wrong with someone enjoying the company of both men and women, but she drew a line at incest, and she dearly hoped the Fowler twins did too.

“Anyways,” Prince Oberyn said, clearly uncomfortable with Nymeria’s insinuations, “you would understand my enthusiasm if you saw Lyanna with a sword. She’s improved dramatically, and I bet even Obara would find her a worthy adversary.” Lyanna grinned at the complement. Regardless of the Red Viper’s reputation, she found him to be a fine uncle and mentor. Oberyn may enjoy a free, unrestricted life, and Lady Stark and Septa Mordane would definitely disapprove, but he had his own kind of honor. Lyanna knew he would never even think of making advances on his dear departed friend’s young daughter.

“I would love to take you up on that honor,” Elia said. “I haven’t seen Obara lose in a long time.” Lyanna looked at her Aunt Ira hopefully. Ira signed and shook her head, giving Lyanna the exasperated look she must have perfected after decades of marriage to Uncle Ali.

“After the feast,” Ira began sternly. “You will take off the dress and wear something else and you will put on your sparring gloves before you so much as touch that hilt.” Lyanna grinned, nodding her agreement. “And after all that training I expect you to win,” she said with just the barest hint of a smile.

 

Doran called the Daynes to his solar after they made it to the Old Palace. Ellaria Sand sat on a lounge, heavily pregnant with a bowl of fruits that she lazily ate from. When she saw Lyanna, she plucked a grape and tossed it. Lyanna caught the grape in her mouth, much to Ira’s consternation. Remembering her manners, Lyanna curtseyed with Ira and Allyria, and Beric, Ali, and Ned bowed slightly to their Prince. Lyanna noted that Ghost padded over to Ellaria and sniffed her rounded belly.

“Remember your manners, Ghost,” she said, channeling her inner Aunt Ira. Ghost tilted his head before silently walking over to Doran and licking at his fingers. Doran just laughed and gestured for them to sit.

“I am always amazed by your direwolf’s intelligence. If half the Lords of Dorne had Ghost’s manners I’d be far less grey,” he chuckled. “I trust the journey wasn’t too eventful?” he inquired politely.

“It was, Prince Doran. The weather was kind,” Beric said with a smile.

“And Lyanna, it was your first time in a carriage, was it not?” he asked, bearing a knowing smile.

“Aye, it was, Uncle Doran. It was the worst,” Lyanna admitted. Beric and Ira shared a quiet laugh.

“I would say it was worth it,” Doran said. “You look absolutely radiant. Just like your mother.” Lyanna flushed with pleasure at the complement. Doran looked at all the Daynes with a soft smile. “It is very good to see all of you. Especially you, Beric. You must come to Sunspear more often. I imagine you will want to take some time to refresh yourselves before the feast.”

“With your leave, my Prince,” Ali said respectfully. Oberyn bit back a snort at the formality, but Ali pretended he didn’t notice. House Dayne was sworn to House Martell, and Ali took that duty very seriously. Doran nodded and gestured for them to rise. The Daynes curtseyed and bowed before leaving for their chambers when Doran interrupted them.

“Lyanna, could you wait for a second?” Lyanna nodded, puzzled. Ellaria kissed her on the cheek before leaving on Oberyn’s arm. The last to leave was Prince Quentyn, who looked between Lyanna and Doran suspiciously before leaving. In truth, Lyanna had forgotten that he’d accompanied them. Arianne was antagonistic and enigmatic and Trystane was sweet beyond measure, but Quentyn seemed more boring than anything else.

“What is it, Uncle?” Lyanna asked. Doran just wordlessly gestured to a side table by the window. There were two chairs, one on either side, and a cyvasse board between them, the pieces out of position indicating an ongoing game. Lyanna grinned in recognition and stood by the chair at Black’s side. She and Doran had been playing by raven, and there was a similar board in her room. Doran’s cyvasse set was much more ornate than hers, with ivory and obsidian pieces instead of her hand-whittled, hand-painted wood ones. There was something about how Doran had reserved his finest set for her game that gave Lyanna a warm feeling in her chest. Remembering that it was her move, she frowned, peering at the pieces.

Doran made to stand with some considerable effort, and Lyanna rushed to his side to help him walk to the chair on the White side. Lyanna knew that Doran had been suffering from gout and joint pain for some time, and she could tell it had flared up recently. Doran kept his weakness quiet save for his inner circle and his most trusted advisors. He was a proud man and Lyanna was honored that the Ruling Prince of Dorne trusted her enough to let her help. Once Doran was seated, Lyanna took her seat at the Black side and looked at her heavy horse, which couldn’t move anywhere without fear of capture, and her rabble, most of whom were long taken.

After a few minutes of thought, Lyanna moved her catapult ahead two spaces. It threatened Doran’s dragon, but also gave him the chance to escape by capturing Lyanna’s own dragon. Two years ago, when Lyanna had been learning cyvasse, boldly attacking when she was already behind and losing her most valuable piece as a result would have been the kind of aggressive mistake that would cost her the game. Now, though, she was a fair bit craftier, and moving her catapult opened up a new line of attack between Doran’s King and Lyanna’s crossbowman on the other side of the board. If Doran moved his dragon to take hers, Lyanna’s crossbowman would kill his King and win the game.

Doran instinctively reached for his dragon, eyeing Lyanna’s own one. He had an almost disappointed look on his face, as if he couldn’t believe Lyanna had reverted to such beginner mistakes. Lyanna tried to keep a neutral face as he moved to capture her dragon, keeping her eyes on her heavy horse, her catapult, and Doran’s dragon as if they were the most important pieces. She tried to keep her eyes off of her own dragon, as if she didn’t realize it was in danger. Most importantly, she avoided the crossbowman, hoping Doran wouldn’t give the minor piece a second thought. Just as Doran touched her dragon, he stilled, and he looked at her dragon, then at her catapult, and his brow furrowed. When he looked at her crossbowman and his lips quirked upwards, Lyanna’s heart sank, and she knew he’d guessed her plan.

“If I didn’t ask myself why such a smart girl would make such a careless mistake, you would be the first person in fifteen years to defeat the ruling Prince of Dorne at cyvasse,” he chuckled, putting his dragon back. “I’m impressed.”

“Etiquette would say that once you touch a piece, you must move it, and once you touch an opponent’s piece, you must capture it if you can, technically I did win,” Lyanna huffed bitterly. She was _so bloody close_!

“Fair enough,” Doran admitted, looking to where Lyanna sat on her hands. “But is that really how you want to win?” Lyanna reluctantly shook her head.

“You’ve your father’s and grandfather’s honor,” Doran mused, looking at the pieces. “I would’ve punished your carelessness and insisted you take the piece, had the situation been reversed.” He grinned as he looked at his dragon. What had seemed like an amateur mistake had been a brilliant attack. Even though Doran had recognized Lyanna’s feint, his only option to save his King was to move one of his horses between the piece and his King. His dragon, his most powerful piece, was lost, and his horse was useless, unable to move without exposing the King.

“When I defeat you, Uncle, it will be due to my superior skill, not because your hands strayed,” Lyanna vowed. Doran moved his light horse to block Lyanna’s crossbowman and Lyanna took his dragon with her catapult. The white dragon piece by the side of the board was little consolation for her near victory, but it was also a promise – a promise that Doran’s white king would join it.

“I don’t doubt it,” Doran said, a hint of pride in his smile. “The last time I came this close to a loss, it was against Elia, right after Rhaenys was born.” His smile turned sad. “For all that you resemble Lyanna Stark and Ashara Dayne, there are days when it’s hard to believe you aren’t Elia’s blood. I wish you could have met her.”

“Would she have liked me?” Lyanna couldn’t help but ask. Oberyn loved to tell her about her mother and Princess Elia, but while she could go up to the Palestone Sword and feel closer to her mother, Lyanna felt she knew very little of Elia Martell of Dorne.

“Without a doubt,” Doran said. “Elia suffered from the same physical ailments that trouble me, but she had a kind of quiet strength. She was sharp as Valyrian steel and had an uncanny nose for the truth. She’d have liked your energy and wit,” he said, moving an elephant. “Did you like your nameday gift?” he asked.

“Aye, I did, Uncle Doran,” Lyanna answered, grinning. Prince Doran had sent a book to Starfall ahead of Lyanna’s thirteenth nameday a few moons ago. The book, _Cregan Stark and Prince Aemon Targaryen, an analysis of the duel between the Black Wolf and the Dragonknight by Grand Maester Kaeth_ , was a treasure. Maester Kaeth wrote an entire book – and a damn long one at that – about Cregan Stark and Aemon the Dragonknight’s famous duel, after which Prince Aemon acknowledged Lord Cregan as the finest swordsman he’d ever seen. The book had Maester Arwin’s notes as well as several other eyewitnesses and contained long, detailed descriptions of every jab, block, parry, counter, and _foot movement_ from two of the finest warriors _who would ever live_. There were numerous sections from different knights, like Ser Willem Wylde and Ser Gwayne Corbrey, who witnessed the duel and added their own opinions, perspectives, and commentary.

And it was book five in Blackwaters’ series.

The book had been heavily annotated by Blackwaters. Blackwaters was in full form in his notes, adding his own suggestions and remarks of how he’d have changed stances and footwork. He even commented on the other knights’ comments, agreeing with and adding to some and sarcastically dismissing others with the confidence of one who’d achieved mastery over the sword. He noted how Ser Willem’s criticism of Prince Aemon’s preference for counterattacking instead of pressing Lord Cregan was more indicative of Ser Willem’s typical Stormlands impatience than any hesitance on the part of the Dragonknight and how obviously Lord Cregan’s use of the back edge of his greatsword to recover from being parried influenced Ser Gwayne’s own distinctive style long after the Vale knight was inducted into Daeron the Good’s Kingsguard.

Blackwaters claimed to have witnessed the duel as a young boy. He was definitely there, for he described the scene in great detail in a long note at the end, where he spoke eloquently and passionately about everything from Cregan Stark’s use of his great height and immense strength to lift the fully armored knight in the air and grapple him to the ground with ease to Prince Aemon’s clean strokes and almost preternatural ability to read his opponent to Ser Gwayne’s Valyrian sword, Lady Forlorn, which he twirled around in awe watching the master swordsmen demonstrate their prowess. Blackwaters did seem very enthralled by Lady Forlorn, and Lyanna could tell that he desperately wanted a Valyrian sword of his own from a young age. Lyanna used to want the same thing, but now, she couldn’t imagine willingly replacing Frostbite for anything, except maybe Dawn.

The book proved more than any other that Lyanna had found a kindred spirit in Blackwaters, one who was just as obsessed with swordplay and martial arts, and one as determined as her to be remembered forever as the greatest swordsman who ever lived. Lyanna was certain she’d heard of him, certain that he’d achieved his wish and achieved legendary status. Perhaps there were books written about _him_ to be pored over by young aspiring squires like Lyanna, she thought. If that wasn’t the mark of success, Lyanna wasn’t sure what was.

“Any luck figuring out the identity of this Blackwaters character?” Doran asked.

“Not at all,” Lyanna admitted. “I thought it was Ser Arthur, but he wasn’t born until long after Aegon the Unworthy passed, and Blackwaters was alive to witness Aemon the Dragonknight. So I’m stuck. I’m certain it’s someone I’ve heard of, though. This Blackwaters must be a famous knight.” 

“Let me know if you find out who he is,” Doran said. “I’m curious. Anyways, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve been keeping you.” Lyanna looked up from the board, puzzled.

“I thought it was for the cyvasse,” Lyanna admitted. She’d been so wrapped up in trying to win that she’d forgotten how long they’d been alone.

“While I would love nothing more than to play cyvasse with you, there is something else I wanted,” Doran said slyly. “I understand that Lady Ira has taught you about the various Dornish houses?”

“Aye, Uncle Doran,” Lyanna nodded, moving her dragon so it threatened Doran’s catapult. “Aunt Ira tested me on the different Lords of Dorne on the way here. I’m ready to meet them.”

“I’m sure you are,” Doran smiled, “but I have a test of my own.” Lyanna cocked a curious brow. “You’ve been in Dorne for about two years, and I want to see how well you’ve adapted to life here. Tell me about the Fowlers.”

“Aunt Ira asked me about them too. Lord Franklyn Fowler is the Lord of Skyreach. He has twin daughters, Jeyne and Jennelyn. The sigil of House Fowler is a blue hooded hawk and their words are _Let Me Soar_ ,” Lyanna recited. Doran nodded, moving his elephant forwards Lyanna wondered whether he knew that the elephant was now in range for her dragon. “Skyreach sits over the Wide Way, the easiest way through the Red Mountains, so Lord Franklyn has a lot of power over anyone who travels in and out of Dorne by land.”

“Very good,” Doran said. “You’ve paid attention.” Lyanna gave him a crooked grin. “So, here’s my test. One question. Who is Franklyn Fowler’s heir?”

Lyanna paused. _His heir?_ Franklyn Fowler had twin daughters.

“Whoever was born first?” Lyanna frowned, pausing as she moved her dragon to capture Doran’s elephant.

“That’s the thing,” Doran said. “No one knows who was born first. No one save Lord Fowler, and he isn’t telling anyone. Only he and I know who will succeed him.”

“Can’t I just ask him?” Lyanna asked. “That’s what my father would suggest.”

“He would,” Doran acknowledged. “But Lord Stark is of the North, where honesty and straightforwardness reign. Here in Dorne, we place more value on tact and…” _sneakiness_ “…discretion,” Doran finished.

“So, my task is to find out who stands to inherit Skyreach without any of the Fowlers knowing?” Lyanna asked. Doran grinned mischievously, just as he moved his catapult to the left, threatening Lyanna’s king with no escape. She’d been so focused on the conversation that she’d completely missed how Doran set up his horses and crossbowmen to trap her king. Had Lyanna been paying attention, she would have taken Doran’s catapult instead of his elephant. Once again, the Prince of Dorne played her like a lute. Lyanna groaned, resting her forehead on the table as she tipped her king in surrender _again_.

“Think you can do it?” Stung by her continued losses at cyvasse, Lyanna felt her competitiveness get the best of her. _I’ll be damned if I lose to this snake again_ , she thought bitterly.

“I’ll figure it out,” Lyanna vowed. “I promise you.”

“Care to make a wager?” Doran asked cheekily. _No_ , Lyanna thought to herself. _No, I’m not that stupid. There’s no way that would end well for me_.

“What are the terms?” Lyanna asked, fingering her fallen king mournfully.

“Is there something you want?” Doran asked, gesturing around his room. Lyanna looked around, sparing a glance at all of the ornate trinkets and souvenirs from Doran’s travels as a younger man.

There was a small solid gold statue of a hooded songbird on his desk, a gift from Skyreach. Its eyes were cut sapphires from Tarth and its wings was studded with diamonds. At the base was an inscription: _For Not Letting Me Soar_. Lord Franklyn’s father, Dylan Fowler, gave the statue to Doran long ago in Tyrosh. They were climbing a mountain when the rocks slipped from under their feet. It was only Doran’s quick reflexes that kept Lord Dylan from tumbling over the edge. Doran followed her gaze until it landed on the statue. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, but Lyanna shook her head. As beautiful as the statue was, Lyanna didn’t have much use for one.

The next thing that drew Lyanna’s eye was a brass hand harp. It was finely polished and buffed. A carved snake wrapped around the spine. Lyanna thought about choosing the harp, but remembering her own harp at home in Starfall, she thought better of it. She passed over a lavish map of the known world too, as it was too big to fit in her chambers. There was a gyroscope on Doran’s desk which he’d spin absentmindedly while deep in thought, but Lyanna didn’t feel it was worth all that much.

There was a strange bronze knife on the wall. It was called a kukri, and it bent forwards halfway down the blade. The kukri was garishly decorated, with feathers carved into the metal making the blade look like a bird’s wing. The knife was a trinket from the Vale of Arryn, where the falcon and crescent moon reigned from the mountains. Lyanna would have picked the kukri, but it was a little too gaudy for her tastes. She was of the North, after all, and she preferred her blades to have a more simple, utilitarian design. Besides, the blade was made of bronze, and bronze couldn’t light a candle to good honest Northern steel like Frostbite and her accompanying dagger.

Finally, Lyanna settled on the Myrish eye on the sitting table close to the window. It was made of gold and silver with onyx and wood inlays. The glass lenses came from Myr, one of the free cities. Lord Stark told her that the glass panes of the glass gardens of Winterfell came from Myr, and better glass couldn’t be found anywhere else. Lyanna could tell the Myrish eye was masterfully crafted, and the ghostly blue lenses were free of any imperfections. The Myrish eye rested on a detachable tripod mount and pointed somewhere in the sky. Next to it lay a pair of attachments – an astrolabe and a sextant – made to assist in navigation on sea and land. The Myrish eye was perfect, both beautiful and functional.

“The Myrish eye?” Doran asked knowingly. “That’s what I’d have chosen in your stead. It would serve you well in Starfall. I know Ashara always wanted one.”

“Aye. If I give you the name of the heir to Skyreach, I want your Myrish eye,” Lyanna said. “What if I lose?”

“There’s another meeting I would rather not attend. A week’s worth of negotiations about tolls and updating standards for paperwork. I can’t imagine a bigger waste of my time,” Doran grinned. “I’m punishing Arianne by making her sit in my stead. If you lose, you will go with her and take notes for me.” Lyanna groaned. The last time she sat in one of Prince Doran’s talks, the meeting went from dawn to dusk for _three straight days_. It was the most mind-numbing experience of Lyanna’s life, even worse than Septa Mordane’s sleep-inducing lectures about _piety_ and _chastity_. Lyanna’s left hand throbbed painfully at the memory of all the writing about _trade_ and other topics no thirteen-year-old girl in her right mind would give a damn about. And with Arianne?! Lyanna figured that a week with the stuck-up, condescending Princess as they sat through a week’s worth of talks about _paperwork_ would drive her to lunacy. Lyanna was sorely tempted to call the bet off rather than risk insanity.

“Those are the terms?” Lyanna asked shakily. _Gods, Uncle. You’re evil. Absolutely evil._

“I understand if you’d rather we didn’t play with such high stakes,” Doran said with a sly smirk. “Especially if you don’t think you can win.” _That’s it. I’ll show you_.

“Deal,” Lyanna said shortly, shaking Doran’s hand.

 

 

 

As soon as the feast began, Lyanna wished she’d kept her big mouth shut.

The feast began as the sun set over the horizon. The weather was fair – slightly warm, but not too humid, with nary a cloud in the sky. Due to the fortuitous weather, Prince Doran moved all the feasts to the open topped ceremonial hall behind the Old Palace. The Spear Tower sat to the North, a great bonfire atop its slender tip, and the Tower of the Sun, whose great golden dome was alight from the setting sun.

Prince Doran sat at the center of the high table, Arianne sat at his side, between her mother and father, and she smirked as lord after lord came to pay their respects and present her their gifts. The Daynes sat to the right of the Martells and the Yronwoods to the left. Both were positions of high honor – Lyanna had never sat at the high table before – and Lyanna tried to sit as straight and properly as she could, remembering Aunt Ira’s lessons. During feasts at Winterfell, she usually sat at the lower tables with off-duty serving girls. They had never been as good conversation as Robb and Arya or Jory and the other guards, and Lyanna couldn’t drink much wine without one of them reporting her to Septa Mordane or Lady Stark.

Dornish feasts, by comparison, were insane.

The kitchens worked throughout the feast, sending courses and desserts to every table. Lyanna didn’t think she’d seen an empty plate in the entire hall. As soon as someone finished a plate, a servant was there to replace it. Lyanna had a leg of chicken practically drowning in gravy and a tomato soup. It was delicious, but as soon as she finished, Oberyn waved over a servant who replaced her empty plate and bowl with a cut of spearfish! She glared, but Oberyn just winked and looked away, making conversation with Doran. Lyanna didn’t want to waste what looked like an expensive dish, but under no circumstances was she going to finish it. She discreetly pulled the plate under the table, where Ghost lay. He was definitely growing; he barely fit under the table, a fact that both pleased and worried Lyanna. She made sure to wave down any servant carrying squid, and every time she gave it to Ghost, he’d get excited and try to get to his feet, jostling the table and nearly spilling everyone’s wine.

If the food was plentiful, then the wine flowed like to Torrentine. Lyanna couldn’t take a single sip without someone coming and topping off her goblet. It made it very difficult to track how much she drank, not that she drank much wine. The wine was fantastic, of course – leagues better than the ale she and Robb snuck back in Winterfell – but Aunt Ira watched her like a hawk, frowning slightly when Lyanna took too large a swig. Of course, Ira’s stern gaze was more effective before Ali told her how much Ira could drink. As it turns out, the strict, uptight Ira Delmot could drink Ali and Oberyn under the table, and she matched them goblet for goblet. After seeing Ira put away a few goblets, Lyanna felt less guilty about enjoying the Dornish Sour.

In the center, a rotating set of musicians kept the music loud and festive throughout the night. The music was deafening, and there was a large space in the middle of the hall cleared for dancers. It was Allyria who dragged Lyanna to the dance floor for the first dance, both giggling after a touch too much wine. After a few songs, Allyria was pulled away by some man from House Wyl. Wyllis Wyl, Lyanna thought he was named. She only recognized him by the sigil on his doublet, a black adder biting a foot. It was an ugly sigil to wear on clothing, Lyanna thought. The wolf of the Starks, the sword and star of the Daynes, those sigils looked elegant and natural on clothing, but a foot? Either way, Wyllis Wyl was tall and dark and stinking of wine, but Allyria still gave him a dance.

Before Lyanna could go back to her place at the table, Oberyn pulled her for a dance. His dance was wild and fast, and Oberyn spun her around several times. By the time he was finished twirling her and throwing her around, Lyanna was a laughing mess. She caught her breath on a slower song, dancing with Ali. Then followed an awkward dance with Ira, where the latter seemed to scrutinize every lock out of place or wrinkle in her dress, a smooth one with Ned, who blushed to his ears, and a crazy mess with Elia. They only made it halfway through the song before falling to their asses on the floor, laughing their hearts out. She danced with all the sand snakes except for Obara, who snorted and went back to her food. Lyanna danced once with Prince Quentyn, who seemed completely disinterested and had two left feet, stomping on her toes often and painfully. It was the longest song of her life, and she all but ran from his arms when it ended. Lyanna then pulled Trystane from Mellario and spun the giggling boy around, throwing technique and propriety to the wind. Even Ghost got a dance, standing on his hind legs with his paws on her shoulders and drawing astonished looks from literally everyone. He tackled Lyanna to the floor halfway through the song and happily licked her laughing face before she shoved him off. Finally, after fifteen songs, Lyanna was ready to rest her weary feet when Cletus Yronwood approached her.

“May I have this dance, my Lady?” he asked politely, flashing her a smile that might have been dazzling had both his eyes been on her but came across instead as off-putting because of his left eye, which drifted to the side. Lyanna wanted nothing more than to turn him down, but she remembered her manners and took his hand, trying not to stare at his lazy-eye.

If Lyanna thought that would’ve been the end of it, she was sorely mistaken. After humoring Cletus for two admittedly not unpleasant dances, Dickon Manwoody tapped her shoulder, begging for a dance of his own. Suddenly, Lyanna felt like a piece of meat thrown to Ser Rodrick’s hounds. After every song, someone new would pull her away. First, it was Ser Arron Qorgyle, then Ser Daemon, then Cassella Dalt, then Jynessa Blackmont, then Teora Toland, then a squire from Skyreach named Fisk, one of Tremond Gargalen’s bastard sons named Alyn Sand, a boy from the Westerlands named Pellis Sarsfield who told her he’d come to Sunspear with his father and sister, Donnel Allyrion, Ben Coldwater of Coldwater Burn, twins Janos and Joros Frey who’d come with their elder sister and fought over Lyanna after every song, Guyard Morrigan of Crow’s Nest, who was pushed stuttering and blushing towards Lyanna by his older brother, a dour, sarcastic squire from the Grey Glen named Eddison, who was blackmailed into asking Lyanna for a dance and stunned speechless when she accepted, and even Ser Gerold Dayne, who had been glaring at the Daynes from a lower table between the Jordaynes and Dalts.

Dancing with Ser Gerold was _interesting_. He had a sour look and sneered at Lyanna whenever they made eye-contact, but he also spun her around and dipped her expertly. It was by far the smoothest dance she had, oddly enough, and she didn’t bolt away the moment he finished like she’d first planned. He was dressed in white with a black star on his doublet over his heart, and Lyanna thought he looked and danced like a handsome knight from Sansa’s songs. Had his attitude been less deplorable, Ser Gerold would be the knight of every girl’s dreams, Lyanna thought. She danced with Ser Gerold for two more songs before Elia pulled her exhausted body to her seat.

“You look exhausted,” Elia commented as Lyanna slumped on the bench. Lyanna gratefully took the offered goblet of wine and downed it in one long gulp. “Careful!” she laughed, patting Lyanna’s back as she sputtered near the end. “I guess Nym was right.”

“About what?” Lyanna asked, grabbing a leg of lamb and slipping it to Ghost, who all but swallowed it whole. “Gods, wolf! How much food can you eat?!”

“About you attracting lots of attention,” Elia said dryly. “How many people did you dance with? Twenty?”

“More, I think,” Lyanna said, frowning. She honestly couldn’t remember, but from how sore her feet felt, she was sure the number was high.

“By the Gods!” Elia exclaimed affectionately. “You’ve been busier than Princess Arianne!”

“That’s only because she’s so picky about who she dances with,” Lyanna retorted. “The stuck-up little…” she trailed off. The wine had definitely loosened her tongue – she’d never have been caught dead speaking ill of the Princess sober. Elia just laughed it off, though.

“I won’t argue with that!” she giggled conspiratorially. “Did you see the way she sneered when the Dalts gave her that necklace?”

“ _Oh, thank you, Lord Dalt,”_ Lyanna said mockingly, imitating Arianne’s voice. _“How nice of you to travel all this way. I assure you, I’ll treasure this trinket forever.”_ Elia coughed, hiding a laugh. “Who the hell does she think she is?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the heir to Sunspear,” Elia offered sarcastically. “The future Ruling Princess of Dorne?”

“Maybe, but does she have to be so…” Lyanna trailed off, gesturing wildly to illustrate her point. “I mean, you’d never catch Robb acting that way, and he’ll be Warden of the North one day.” Elia quirked an eyebrow as Lyanna continued to rant. “She’s just so infuriating! She always struts around like she’s the prettiest, most precious gift from the Gods, and sure, she’s beautiful, but being the most beautiful woman in Westeros doesn’t give her the right to act like everyone’s beneath her!”

“Sounds like you wish _you_ were beneath her,” Elia observed. Lyanna ignored her and continued.

“I mean, have you ever seen her lips? They look soft and lovely, but they’re always sneering. And those deep brown eyes always looking at you like you’re a worm under her foot. And the clothes she wears! Septa Mordane would lose her mind! I mean, we get it. You have the most perfect figure of all the known world. You don’t have to constantly remind us!”

“By the Gods, Lyanna! Stop!” Elia laughed, stomping on her foot to get her to stop before she could get loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. Lyanna turned just in time to see Arianne walking behind her. Arianne looked at Lyanna and smirked, and Lyanna’s eyes widened when she realized the Princess had heard everything. Lyanna opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Arianne laughed, pinched Lyanna’s cheek, and walked back to her place at the high table.  

“Maybe she has the right of it, turning down so many dances. My toes will definitely be bruised tomorrow,” Lyanna muttered, changing the subject. Her face was flaming red, and she couldn’t look Elia in the eye.

“You’d never guess Prince Quentyn and Prince Oberyn are related from the way they dance,” Elia laughed, charitably moving on. Lyanna followed her gaze to see Oberyn dancing with a woman in a tight green dress while an older man in green – likely her father – glared daggers at the pair. Oberyn had pulled the woman close, running his hands along her sides while making teasing eye contact with her father. Lyanna wondered whether the Red Viper would fight another duel before the night was over. She noticed Pellis next to him, making him Lord Melwyn Sarsfield and the woman his eldest, Peoria. Pellis was staring at her, and Lyanna smiled and waved before turning back to Elia. “You shouldn’t do that, Lya,” Elia admonished.

“Do what?” Lyanna asked, confused.

“The poor green boy is smitten with you! Don’t give him false hope when you don’t even know his name!” Elia exclaimed.

“His name is Pellis Sarsfield, from Sarsfield in the Westerlands. He’s here with his father, Lord Melwyn, and his elder sister, Peoria. I think he said House Sarsfield’s words are _True to the Mark_ ,” Lyanna recalled. “Do you usually get so many lords from outside Dorne?” she asked.

“Not really,” Elia said thoughtfully. “Which lords do you mean?”

“Well, there’s Lord Sarsfield, or course. Then there’s Lord Royce Coldwater of Coldwater Rush in the Vale of Arryn. He came with his nephew, Ben, and his daughter, Minisa. Also from the Vale, Uthor Tollett is here from the Grey Glen with his squire, Edd, and his daughter, Ewin. Janos, Joros, and Walda Frey are here from the Twins. Finally, the ones in green and black are Morigans of Crows Nest: Richard, Guyard, and Anna.”

“Now that I think about it, we usually get one or two Northerners offering marriage proposals to Arianne,” Elia mused. “It makes sense that more would come for a feast in her honor. But more importantly, does _Pellis Sarsfield_ have a chance?” Elia pressed, smirking deviously.

“Who has a chance?” Ali asked, angrily butting into the conversation.

“No one,” Lyanna protested.

“That Sarsfield boy over there,” Elia said, pointing him out. Pellis sent another smile and wave and Ali glared at him in response, one hand on the pommel of his scimitar. Lyanna rolled her eyes, dimly noting that Ali carried two scimitars, both at his left hip. _I guess he can fend off two suitors at once_ , Lyanna thought dryly.

“Keep her away from the boys,” Ali warned Elia.

“Honestly, Uncle,” Lyanna whined. “It was just a dance. I danced with Tris and Ned too. Are you going to threaten them?”

“Maybe,” Ali admitted, frowning at a very confused Trystane. “You’re too young for boys.”

“Uncle, I have a sword of my own. If any boy tries something, you need not –” Lyanna didn’t get a chance to finish because Ali bolted off to where Ser Ulwyck Uller asked Ira for a dance.

“He’s been like that all night,” Elia laughed. “I swear, he’s like a babe who refuses to share his toys.”

“He did duel Ser Ulwyck for her,” Lyanna pointed out. She noted that Ser Ulwyck still looked longingly at Ira when Ali’s back was turned. “I don’t think either of them have forgotten that.”

“Absolutely disgusting, right?” Ned said, cutting into their conversation just like his father. He pointed to where his parents were dancing, if by _dancing_ one meant _passionately kissing while music played_. He made a gagging noise and reached under to pet Ghost as one of Ali’s hands grabbed shamelessly at Ira’s backside and she responded by pulling him closer.

“Why? Don’t want another sibling?” Elia asked cheekily. Ned winced and looked downcast, and Lyanna immediately knew something was wrong. “Did I say something wrong?” Elia frowned.

“No, it’s just… Did you know my parents were married for almost five years before I was born?” Edric asked. Lyanna nodded her head. “They lost four pregnancies before me,” he said sadly. Lyanna was shocked. She knew that Ira had lost one to a sickness, the one that took Lyanna’s grandmother and nearly took Ira and Allyria too, but she didn’t know Ira had lost _three more_. “They’d all but given up hope that they’d have children. Mother was worried that Father would remarry, but he just insisted Allyria become his heir once he became Lord of Starfall. I was a happy surprise, but one that likely won’t ever happen,” he finished sadly.

“That’s horrible,” Elia said. “I’m so sorry.” Ned shook his head.

“It’s alright. I know they’re both very happy, and I’m thankful they chose to stay together. I just always wanted a sibling, you know? It got lonely growing up as the only child of Starfall.”

“Well, you’re not alone anymore!” Lyanna said brightly. Ned’s cheeks turned pink and he flashed her a broad smile.

“You’re right, Lya,” he said brightly. “I’m so glad you came home.”

“Me too,” Lyanna agreed.

“I hate to intrude,” Elia said, “but you haven’t danced much, Edric Dayne. You danced once with Lya and then just pouted.” Ned reddened.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ned said, pouting. Elia waved past him and a young girl dressed in orange and yellow bounded over, blushing furiously when she looked at Ned.

“What’s your name?” Elia asked kindly.

“Lyssa Sand,” she squeaked, curtseying to Ned. Lyanna grinned in understanding.

“Go on, Ned,” she said, nodding to the girl, who looked like she might melt on the spot. Ned glared at them, but remembered his manners and bowed to Lyssa, extending his hand.

“Would you give me the honor of a dance, Lady Lyssa?” he asked politely.

“Yes,” she sighed, nearly fainting as she took his hand. Ned glared over his shoulder as he led her to the dance floor. Lyanna winked and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and he stuck out his tongue.

“Gods, that girl has been staring at Ned all night,” Elia laughed. “At least you gave all your admirers a dance.”

“I don’t have admirers!” Lyanna insisted. Elia rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when someone walked up to their table.

“Lady Lyanna,” Prince Quentyn said formally.

“Prince Quentyn,” Lyanna returned. “Can I help you, Your Grace?”

“Cletus will probably ask you for your hand in marriage tonight. You should accept. He’s a good man from a powerful family with a castle of his own in his future.” He said coolly.

“Forgive me, Prince Quentyn, but I’m not looking for suitors right now. He should ask me in a few years,” Lyanna replied.

“You needn’t marry him now, just agree to his proposal,” Quentyn insisted.

“But I don’t want to marry him,” Lyanna said frankly.

“Why not?” Quentyn asked, outraged.

“It’s not your decision, Quentyn” Elia cut in. “It’s Lya’s. If she doesn’t want to marry him, she doesn’t want to marry him. It’s her decision.”

“That’s what Lord Stark and Lord Dayne said too,” Quentyn mused.

“You wrote my father?” Lyanna said, outraged. “You had no place to do that, _my Prince_ ,” she hissed. Ghost, sensing her anger, glared at him from below the table. Quentyn shrugged.

“It’s a good match. I’m sure Lord Stark is doing the same for you and your sisters. I just want Cletus to be happy. He deserves it,” he remarked before walking away.

“The nerve of him,” Elia growled, shaking her head. “As if all thirteen-year-olds need betrothal contracts. Look at Allyria. She’s unmarried and unbetrothed, and she’s more than happy.” Lyanna nodded silently, eyes scanning the hall. She briefly locked eyes with Cletus before looking away. Admittedly, she had no interest in marrying the man, but she didn’t want to hurt him either.

 _Quick and simple_ , she decided. _That’s what Father would suggest. I’ll be honest and he can move on with his life._

“Speaking of Allyria, who is she talking to?” Elia asked. “He looks old enough to be her father!” Lyanna followed her finger to where Allyria was finishing a dance with an older man dressed in blue. Lyanna frowned as Allyria seemed more and more uncomfortable with whatever the man was saying until Prince Oberyn came to her rescue, pulling her away for a dance. “Thank the Gods. He didn’t seem to know how to tell that a woman wasn’t interested!” Lyanna didn’t join her friend in laughter; something about the man made her feel uneasy.

“Where have I seen him before?” Lyanna asked herself. As one of the servants came to take away the empty plates and refill their wine, Lyanna got his attention. “Excuse me. Who is that man over there?” she asked, pointing to the man, who had turned to talk to Uthor Tollett. “The man talking to Lord Tollett, I mean.”

“Lord Fowler?” the servant asked. Lyanna’s eyes widened, and she nodded dumbly. The servant looked at her like she had two heads before shaking his head and walking away.

“What’s the matter, Lya?” Elia asked, concerned. Lyanna ignored her, looking down the High Table to where Prince Doran sat, deep in conversation with Lord Dayne and Lord Yronwood. He briefly met Lyanna’s eyes and cocked a brow, as if to say _What’s wrong, Lyanna? Forgot the test? I hope you enjoy writing and paperwork!_

“Shit,” she muttered, letting her head fall to the table for the second time that day with a painful _thunk_. Elia wrapped a worried arm around her shoulder and Lyanna despondently leaned into the embrace. “The test. I forgot about the fucking test!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This was a loooong chapter. Didn't intend for it to be this long, but I'm pretty happy with it. I'd say don't expect the next one to be this long, but Part 2 is more than 8000 words long and its about halfway done, lol. Pray for me.
> 
> So, I'm gonna have the sand snakes feature more in this next set of chapters. Especially Elia, as in this story she's of a similar age to Lyanna. I also think it's kinda cute, y'know? Elia Sand and Lyanna Snow, bff's.
> 
> In the books, Jeyne Fowler is the oldest of the Fowler twins. I'm ignoring that. After all the butchering of canon and the hard work of GRRM that I've done, I don't even feel bad about throwing away that particular detail. 
> 
> Regarding Blackwaters, I edited chapter 3 to include him, but for those who don't want to go and look for where I introduce the character, Blackwaters is the alias of some mystery guy who annotated the swordplay books Lyanna gets as birthday gifts. He basically makes them his own editions, taking notes and making improvements on things like technique and practice. He edited 7 such books: 4 of which are in Starfall's library and the fifth given to Lyanna by Prince Doran. From the notes Blackwaters takes, Lyanna figures he must be a famous and skilled knight, and she resolves to figure out his identity. It's a minor subplot I'll kinda pepper in between major plot events.
> 
> When going back to previous chapters, I noticed that there's a year long gap between chapter 3 and chapter 4. That sucks imho, and I want to add another chapter between them - a kind of slice of life chapter showing Lyanna exploring Starfall and the surrounding city. It'd be a good idea to go bonkers with all the stuff about Starfall I wanted to include in chapter 3 but didn't as well as flesh out the Blackwaters story. My only problem is that I don't know how to do this and continue the story proper at the usual pace. I'm sure one or two of you wonderful readers and commenters like this story enough to care about regular updates, so I'm asking. Would it be a bother if I took a break from updating the story to add a chapter to the middle? Let me know. I'm genuinely curious. It wouldn't be next week, though. If I do add a new chapter 4, it'd be after the Celebration at Sunspear chapters.
> 
> Anyways, love the support and comments! I'm getting better about responding to comments, so keep them coming. I appreciate all the feedback! 
> 
>  
> 
> Next time: A Celebration at Sunspear Part 2: Moonlit Inquiries


	7. The Celebration at Sunspear Part 2: Midnight Inquiries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As night falls, Lyanna asks around and learns that Lord Fowler's plans are more complicated than she thought. However, she was so engrossed in her bet with Prince Doran, she failed to notice that she'd drawn attention of her own.

 

 

**Lyanna**

“The heir to Skyreach?” Elia asked, playing with the few frizzy hairs that escaped her long black braid. Lyanna had to resist the urge to swat Elia’s hand away before she could mess up her hair anymore. _Aunt Ira is rubbing off on me_ , Lyanna mused, one hand reaching up to check her own hair. Luckily, it had kept its fancy styling despite the dancing. “I didn’t think about it before, but that’s a good question. I’m not sure which of the twins it is.”

“Neither am I,” Lyanna lamented. “I’m going to lose this bet for sure.” She looked up to see the night sky, with a crescent moon glowing white. The hour had grown late and she’d made no progress at all.

“Don’t think like that, Lya,” Elia said cheerily. “We’ll figure it out together.” She gave Lyanna a friendly punch to the shoulder. “Besides, everyone stays up late during these feasts, so we have plenty of time.”

“Thanks, Elia,” Lyanna grinned, rubbing her shoulder. “I guess we should start with what we know…”

“…which isn’t much,” Elia laughed. “Lord Fowler doesn’t have many friends.”

“We know it’s either Jeyne or Jennelyn. We should talk to them first,” Lyanna said. “I barely know them, though. I don’t know how to approach them, or even how to recognize them. I didn’t see anyone else wearing Fowler colors.”

“Recognizing them is easy,” Elia said, pointing to a table by the wall where Lady Nym was sitting between two ladies. They were deep in both their conversation and their cups. “The Fowler twins are Nym’s best friends. Ask her to introduce you,” Elia suggested.

“You’re brilliant, Elia!” Lyanna exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “I’ll be right back,” she said, bouncing away. Lyanna cut her way through the dancing crowd, politely declining when Pellis Sarsfield asked her for another dance. _Maybe Elia was right_ , she thought, avoiding the gazes of the Frey twins, who drooled like hounds. Carefully, she made her way to where Lady Nym sat with the Fowler twins.

“Lya!” Nym exclaimed, catching sight of her. Nym waved excitedly, splashing the twins. Lyanna could tell that she was quite drunk – as were the twins, judging by the way they didn’t seem to notice.

“Lady Nym,” Lyanna greeted warmly, taking a seat. “I haven’t seen you all night.”

“That’s because you’ve been dancing all night,” Nym retorted. “How many partners have you had today?”

“I’m not sure,” Lyanna said frankly. “Quite a few, probably.”

“You harlot! Good job!” Nym said cheerily, clapping her on the back. She turned to the twins, who looked at Lyanna quizzically. “These are Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler,” she introduced.

“Lyanna Snow,” Lyanna said politely, nodding her head. Subtly, she took a glance at the twins. They both had wispy yellow hair and brown eyes, but they weren’t identical, thankfully. Jeyne had narrower eyes and Jennelyn had a bigger nose and wider lips. Lyanna noted that both were dressed in Fowler blue.

“Snow?” Jeyne asked curiously. “You’re of the North?”

“Aye, my Lady,” Lyanna answered. “My mother named me Snow because my father is Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.”

“So you’re Ashara’s daughter,” Jennelyn slurred. Nym rolled her eyes at Jennelyn’s drunkenness. “I can see the resemblance. You’re pretty.”

“Thank you, my Lady,” Lyanna said. “So, you two hail from Skyreach, right?”

“Unfortunately, we _both_ do,” Jennelyn slurred, looking down at her goblet. She swirled the wine before tipping her head back and draining the cup.

“Forgive my sister,” Jeyne said. “She’s had too much to drink.” Jennelyn snorted.

“Do you not like Skyreach?” Lyanna asked Jennelyn innocently. “I’ve heard it’s quite beautiful.” Jennelyn snorted and looked away. Lyanna could feel her closing off. _Interesting_ , she thought. _Perhaps she envies Jeyne’s position as heir?_

“Of course, I like Skyreach. More than Jeyne does, at any rate,” Jennelyn retorted. “Why else would she be so eager to leave at every opportunity?”

“So eager to leave?” Jeyne asked incredulously. “It was you who left to go fuck that Ser Drinkwater when Father asked us to audit the castle,” she sneered.

“Are you two going to argue about that all night?” Nym asked, with just a hint of annoyance. “Lya has better things to do than listen to you bicker!” Under any other circumstances, Lyanna would have appreciated Lady Nym’s vote of confidence. This time, however, she thought she could learn a great deal from the Fowler twins’ bickering.

“Fine,” Jennelyn said, still a little surly.

“Let’s talk about something else,” Jeyne offered cheerily. _No, let’s keep talking about Skyreach,_ Lyanna mentally protested. “How long have you been to Dorne?” she asked Lyanna. _Fine_.

“A bit more than two years,” Lyanna answered, keeping the impatience out of her tone. “I came to Sunspear for the first time when I was eleven.”

“You must like it better than your father’s frigid home,” Jeyne said.

“Of course, she does!” Nym said loudly. “If she was a man, her balls would’ve frozen off! That’s what my father says, at least.”

“Eddard Stark has six children,” Jennelyn pointed out, in better spirits now that the subject changed. “Clearly his balls are working fine.” Lyanna wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Starfall is very different from Winterfell,” Lyanna said, hoping to move the conversation away from her father’s parts. “It’s very magical. I’m sure Lord Fowler has told you similar stories about Skyreach?”

“Is it true the stars fall during the new moon?” Jeyne asked, ignoring that last thought, much to Lyanna’s frustration.

“Aye, it’s true. It’s beautiful. Everyone comes out to watch the night sky fill with lights,” Lyanna said. “I’m sure the Red Mountains look just as beautiful from Skyreach.”

“I’ll make sure to come for the next one,” Jennelyn vowed. _Are they even listening to me?!_ Lyanna wondered angrily.  

“We’ll have duties to fulfill, but I’m sure Jenn would have no trouble abandoning them to jaunt down to Starfall for a few days,” Jeyne said snidely. Jennelyn whirled around to face her sister… then turned some more, drunk and unsteady.

“How long will you keep bringing that up?” Jennelyn asked angrily.

“Do you have any idea how long the audit took? How much grain and horses and servants and…”

“I get it. I get it.”

“No you don’t! I had to take an accounting of _everything_ , from the stones in the walls to the swords in the armories to the fucking hay in the stables, and you were riding some salty knight’s cock! You never take your duties seriously.”

“You’re just jealous that Ser Gerris wanted me and not you,” Jennelyn sneered. “Anyways, what about the time you made me collect the tolls from those Stormlanders?”

“That was _one time_! And I only made you do that because you made _me_ cover for you with Maester Horne when _Ser Gerris_ but a baby Drinkwater in your belly!” _What?_ Lyanna wondered, confused. Her neck hurt from whipping back and forth trying to follow the twins’ bickering.

“Get ready for another famous Fowler feud,” Lady Nym whispered to Lyanna, as the argument turned to their tastes in bed-mates.

“Drinkwater’s lips look like a camel’s with hair!”

“The serving girls you take to bed wouldn’t win any flower crowns either.”

“This coming from the woman who screws one-eye Wendy thrice a fortnight!”

“Is that worse than taking the smith’s _sword_ right on his anvil?”                                                                                                    

“You act like you haven’t done the same thing.”

“Maybe, but at least I didn’t involve the smith’s _daughter_.” _That’s horrifying_ , Lyanna thought, drinking her wine. _The faster we can get back to my question and away from incestuous trysts, the better._

“As if you wouldn’t if you could.”

“Fucking a man and his daughter at the same time? No, I wouldn’t.”

“Liar.”

“I draw the line at incest.”

“No you don’t!”

“Bite your tongue!”

“You had no problem with my tongue last night, _sweet Jenn_.” _By the Old Gods and the New!_ Lyanna thought, blushing furiously.

“I told you, I thought it was Nymeria’s!”

“Yet you didn’t object to my presence. And the blindfold was _your_ idea.”

“Do they always bicker about bed-sport?” Lyanna worriedly asked Lady Nym. The twins had started arguing louder and louder, drawing the attentions of the nearby tables as their accusations increased in volume and vitriol.

“They bicker about everything under the sun,” Nym laughed. Jeyne and Jennelyn stood up and pointed in each other’s faces, shouting at the top of their lungs. “I blame Lord Franklyn more than anything.” _Really? That might be helpful,_ Lyanna thought, surprised.

“What did he do?” Lyanna asked, trying not to seem curious. She needn’t bothered with her caution; Nym was too deep in her cups to try and piece together Lyanna’s specific interest in Lord Fowler and Skyreach.

“It is not what he’s _done_ , but rather what he _hasn’t done_ ,” Nym clarified. “He hasn’t explicitly named his heir, and the last time someone asked who would succeed him as Lady of Skyreach, Lord Franklyn refused to let them through the Prince’s Pass for a year.” _Lord Fowler is determined to keep it a secret,_ Lyanna mused. “Both Jeyne and Jennelyn are convinced they’re the heir,” Nym laughed.

“That must make it hard for you, seeing as you’re their closest friend,” Lyanna pointed out. Nym contemplated this but shook her head.

“They’re not that bad,” Nym said. Lyanna snorted, gesturing with her eyes to the arguing twins above them. “Besides, their fighting isn’t _all bad_.” At Lyanna’s confused look, she leaned in to clarify. “They tend to be very aggressive, territorial lovers. In the best possible way,” she finished with a wink. Lyanna choked on her wine and flushed again. Nym cackled loudly, before furrowing her brow and looking over Lyanna’s shoulder.

“What is it?” Lyanna asked.

“Do you see the Qorgyles staring at us?” Nym asked curiously. Lyanna took a glance over to where the Qorgyles sat. Lord Quentyn Qorgyle sat in conversation with one of the men from House Dalt – Lyanna could tell by his purple cape covered with yellow lemons. Lyanna thought that sigil was rather silly. Not ugly like the sigil of House Wyl – she honestly felt terrible for the ladies of Wyl who wore dresses with _feet_ embroidered on them – but still silly all the same. Lyanna tried to imagine a company of soldiers with _lemons_ on their shields and banners, but she couldn’t. While the Dalt man in his lemony cloak spoke with Lord Qorgyle, his two sons sat staring at the Fowler table.

Ser Arron Qorgyle sat next to an older man, who Lyanna assumed was Ser Gulian, the heir to Sandstone. He was gesturing wildly in conversation; he’d speared a cut of meat with his dagger and waved it around as he told some wild story. Lyanna remembered him from their brief dance. More specifically, she remembered the way he held her close and stared into her eyes like a man dying of thirst staring at a cup of summerwine. When Ser Arron saw Lyanna, he cracked her a bright smile and pointed animatedly at her, getting the attention of everyone at the table. _Oh no,_ Lyanna thought, turning back to the Fowler twins, who were arguing over competency with sums and administration.

“You over-counted the water in our stores! We had to pay double to get water from the Manwoodys”

“You under-counted the men-at-arms! That’s worse! Half our men would’ve starved!”

“It wasn’t my fault you needed twenty men to swim in the Red River!”

“I’m sure you’d rather I was killed by bandits so you could have Skyreach!”

“Skyreach is already mine! Father says I’m the next Lady of Skyreach!”

“No he didn’t!”

“Do you know how humiliated Father was asking Dagos fucking Manwoody for water?”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“Yes it was, dear Jeyne! Face it, you’ve forfeited any right to hold Skyreach!” _I wonder if that’s true_ , Lyanna mused. “I heard father tell Ser Juvian he’s grateful you won’t be around to ruin it in the future!” _Yes! I’ve got this. That Myrish Eye is mine!_ Lyanna turned away to keep the furious Jeyne from seeing her grin. She looked over to Elia and gave her a triumphant grin and a thumbs-up.

“I didn’t know you were close to the Fowlers,” a voice behind Lyanna remarked. Lyanna felt her grin slip away, and she turned and saw Ser Arron Qorgyle grinning down at her. “Lady Lyanna,” he said politely.

“Ser Arron,” Lyanna responded, taking his hand so Ser Arron could kiss her knuckles. Ser Arron kept his lips on her fingers for quite a bit longer than was strictly necessary, and Lyanna had to all but pull her hand away before Ser Arron let go. She noticed Nym, Jeyne, and Jennelyn watching the scene intently, the twins having paused their spat. _Of course, now they stop fighting,_ Lyanna thought murderously. “I’m afraid I didn’t see you after our dance,” she said shortly, trying to pull away so she could get back to the Fowlers and their fight. _Did Lord Fowler really tell his master-at-arms that Jennelyn is the heir?_

“Didn’t see me? My lady, you wound me,” Ser Arron said dramatically, putting a hand over his heart and miming an injury. “My eyes have seen little else after our brief dance. I was worried I’d be condemned to naught but your memory – a worse fate than Ghaston Grey, I assure you. Though I know how you can make it up to me.”

“How, Ser?” Lyanna asked sweetly, trying to keep from grinding her teeth. If Ser Arron noticed her discomfort, he didn’t show it. If anything, his smile widened.

“Come with me to our table?” he suggested. “We can enjoy the rest of the feast together?” Lyanna’s eyes widened.

“I apologize, Ser, but I’m occupied right now. Perhaps tomorrow?” She said, desperately. _I’m so close, but I don’t have much time! I don’t need this right now!_

“Of course, Lady Lyanna can go with you,” Nym said with a wink. “Forgive her, she’s merely shy, the poor thing.” Lyanna bit back a swear as Ser Arron helped her to her feet and walked her to the Qorgyles’ table. As she left, the Fowlers started to get back to their loud and likely very revealing argument. Lyanna turned and glared at Nym over her shoulder before looking at Elia, who frowned, confused. She sent Lyanna a look asking, _what are you doing?_ and Lyanna tried to gesture at Ser Arron to show her unwillingness. Elia just rolled her eyes and turned her attentions back to Ghost.

“My father and elder brother,” Ser Arron introduced. Lyanna curtseyed, trying to keep a smile on her face. “This is Lady Lyanna Snow.”

“Ashara’s girl?” Lord Qorgyle asked. “I shouldn’t have to ask. You’re far too Valyrian to be from any other Dornish house.”

“Valyrian?” Lyanna asked curiously. She knew of the Targaryens and their silver hair and violet eyes, traits she bore, but she wasn’t a Targaryen. Lyanna thought she bore more of a resemblance to her Northern namesake and Dornish mother than to the Dragonlords of old.

“Yes, from your mother,” Lord Qorgyle said. “I think somewhere like six Targaryens married into House Dayne, and the Gods only know how many Velaryons.” Lyanna nodded, remembering that her grandmother on her mother’s side was a Velaryon. “And the first Valyrian people to come to Westeros weren’t Aegon and his sisters, but men and women who’d married the Daynes who sailed to the Valyrian freehold to oversee the construction of Dawn. So, I’d say you’re as much Valyrian as you are Rhoynish,” he finished.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Lyanna said, keeping her tone sweet. “I didn’t know that.”

“Did you know they called Ashara the _fallen star_?” Lord Qorgyle said with a sad smile?

“I didn’t,” Lyanna said. “Why did they call her that?”

“She was beautiful and sharp, just her House’s famous blade. Everyone said she was too unearthly to be of this world. They said she fell from the stars, just like Dawn.” Lord Qorgyle wiped a tear from his eyes before continuing. “Of course, that name had a new meaning after what happened to her, but I think it’s important to remember Ashara for who she was, not just how she left us. In that way, you are very much Ashara’s daughter.”

“Thank you, Lord Qorgyle,” Lyanna said honestly. “That means a lot.”

“Of course, you take after your namesake too,” Lord Qorgyle added. “I never met Lyanna Stark, but I’ve heard she was a wild and beautiful she-wolf, much like you.”

“You take after two of the most beautiful women of my generation. No wonder my brother has been talking so much about you,” Ser Gulian laughed. Lyanna flushed at the compliment. Ser Arron turned red and punched his brother in the shoulder.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Lyanna said. “It was but one dance. We didn’t have the opportunity to become very well acquainted.” If Lyanna thought that would push away Ser Arron’s affections, she was sorely mistaken. If anything, it had the opposite effect.

“Then we must remedy that,” Lord Qorgyle insisted. “My son was ready to challenge Ser Daemon Sand to a duel after he took you away. How would it look if I raised two men to fight to the death over women?” Ser Arron flushed but didn’t say anything, instead helping Lyanna find her seat, much to her annoyance. It felt like he took every opportunity to put a hand on her waist or shoulder. He sat right next to Lyanna, so close to her that their legs touched.

“Is this your first feast at Sunspear?” Ser Gulian asked giving Ser Arron a pointed look. Lyanna shuffled away from Ser Arron slightly, and she flashed Ser Gulian a thankful look.

“Aye, it is, Ser Gulian,” Lyanna said. “Are they always this…” Lyanna trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Extravagant?” Lord Qorgyle supplied. “Yes, they are. I’ve seen feasts like this go from dinner to lunch the next day.” _Seven hells_ , Lyanna thought. “Usually, you eat your fill, go to bed…”

“Maybe with someone to share the bed with,” Ser Arron supplied cheerily, giving Lyanna a hopeful look. Lyanna shifted further away, and Ser Gulian choked on his wine trying not to laugh.

“As I was saying,” Lord Qorgyle continued, giving Ser Arron a dark look. “You eat your fill, go to bed, and come back the next day to eat before you leave.”

“That’s a lot of food,” Lyanna said, amazed. A serving girl walked by with a goblet and a pitcher of more Dornish Sour and placed them in front of Lyanna, giving her a look that said _you’ll need this_.

“Are you betrothed, Lady Lyanna?” Ser Arron asked, eyeing her up and down intensely. Ser Gulian and Lord Qorgyle groaned at his forwardness, and Lyanna shifted uncomfortably.

“Lord Qorgyle, what was your relation to Caprys Qorgyle?” She said abruptly, changing the subject. The first thing she thought about when she heard the name Qorgyle was the former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, who passed away shortly after Lyanna left for Dorne.

Ser Gulian sniggered at how Ser Arron’s face dropped, but before the younger knight could press on, Lord Qorgyle silenced him with a look and smiled at Lyanna.

“Caprys Qorgyle was my uncle before he sailed North to take the Black,” Lord Qorgyle replied. “I’m surprised you know of him.”

“My uncle is First Ranger Benjen Stark, my Lord,” Lyanna answered honestly. “Robb and I would always ask him about the Night’s Watch. Had I been a boy, I’d likely have joined him when I came of age.”

“You sound like you wish you could,” Ser Gulian observed.

“Aye, I do” Lyanna admitted. “My uncle’s stories of ranging beyond the Wall were always my favorite. My father always says there’s great honor in serving in the Night’s Watch and that the Starks have manned the Wall for thousands of years.”

“Most of us South of the Neck don’t see it that way, but Uncle Caprys felt it as an honorable calling,” Ser Gulian said sadly. “He took the Black after his wife passed - complications from the birthing bed. Neither his wife nor the babe lived through the night. My uncle was destroyed, and he left North with a Wandering Crow a year later.”

“That’s horrible,” Lyanna said sympathetically. _I know Uncle Ali would have been destroyed if something like that happened to Aunt Ira_. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Uncle Benjen always said that Lord Commander Qorgyle was a good man and a credit both to his House and to the Watch.”

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna,” Lord Qorgyle said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes.

“Please, call me Lya,” Lyanna said automatically. Lord Qorgyle and Ser Gulian seemed nice, but as soon as she saw Ser Arron’s smirk, she regretted even opening her mouth.

“So, Lya,” Ser Arron said, puffing out his chest. “Do you want to hear how I gained my knighthood?”

“My brother tells this story to everyone,” Ser Gulian laughed. “I’m sure you’re the last woman left in Dorne who hasn’t heard the tale.”

“Very well,” Lyanna said, pouring herself a generous helping of wine. “I’d love to hear it.” _Let’s get this over with before I lose my mind._ Lord Qorgyle gave her a sympathetic look and rolled his eyes at his younger son, who started into his tale.

“When I was eight, I was squired to Ser Ertram Mertyns, the Owl Knight of Mistwood,” Ser Arron said dreamily. “He taught me everything he knows about chivalry and swordsmanship.” Lyanna had to bite back a snort as Ser Arron stretched his arms, showing off his admittedly large muscles, and tried to put one arm around her. _Chivalry indeed_.

“So, Ser Arron,” Lyanna said sweetly, moving away from his embrace. “Pray tell, what noble deed did you perform to earn your knighthood? To be knighted by the great Owl Knight of Mistwood is no small feat, especially for one so young.” Ser Arron’s grin widened even further.

“I rode with him and a company of knights against a band of escapees,” Ser Arron said proudly. “Our company included Sers Ormund and Gladden Wylde, Ser Balon Swann, and Ser Guyard Morrigan, who was knighted with me.” Lyanna remembered the blushing young man in green with a black crow clasp who was forced to dance with her by his brother and looked a few tables over, where she saw Ser Guyard looking at her while a woman in green talked to him. Lyanna gave him a small smile. Ser Guyard promptly started choking on his wine, and the woman next to him had to pat his back repeatedly. Next to them, Lyanna saw Ser Richard Morrigan speaking with, of all people, Lord Fowler. They seemed to be in a great argument, as Lord Fowler had turned quite red and Ser Richard was gesturing wildly at the woman with them, who Lyanna assumed was his sister, Anna.

“We rode night and day through the Rainwood, from Stonehelm to the Rain House. There were fifteen escaped criminals to round up,” Ser Arron continued, oblivious to Lyanna’s lack of attention. “The other knights went home after a few days, but Guyard and I pressed on with Ser Ertram. We tracked them for a fortnight, riding through the biggest storms I’ve ever seen. It felt like the Gods themselves were raining down their fury. I saw great oaks uprooted and lightning blast the bark off of the trees. We rode through the storm for three days before finally taking refuge in an old cabin a day’s ride from the Rain House. I tell you, we were soaked to the bone! I didn’t think I’d ever feel dry again.”

“I think you’ve lost her, Arron,” Ser Gulian laughed.

“Nonsense,” Ser Arron retorted. “Lya’s listening to me, aren’t you, my dear?”

“What?” Lyanna said absentmindedly. She’d been busy watching Lord Fowler, who’d left the Morrigans to go speak with the Freys. “Of course, I’m listening, Ser Arron,” Lyanna said, “Pray, please continue.” As Ser Arron continued speaking, she noted how Lord Fowler spoke to the Freys quietly, gesturing between Walda Frey and where his daughters sat drinking with Nym, their argument apparently forgotten. He seemed to glare at the twins, presumably at Jeyne, who Lyanna remembered had angered her father recently. _Lord Fowler seems to be speaking with all the men who’ve come from outside Dorne_ , Lyanna noted. _Uthor Tollet, Ser Richard Morrigan, and now Janos and Joros Frey? Perhaps he intends to send his daughter away?_

“… so we took shelter in the cabin when Guyard and I needed to go and… er, _relieve ourselves_ ,” Ser Arron said, grinning, “when what do I find? Three bandits up in the tree! They probably knew that they needed to shut us up, so they jumped down from the try to try and kill me before I could alert the others. Little did they know I wasn’t just some ordinary squire, but Arron Qorgyle, the son of Lord Quentyn Qorgyle of Sandstone and squired to Ser Ertram Mertyns, the Owl Knight of Mistwood! I drew my sword and gave a mighty cry, _‘Sandstone!’_ and we attacked. By the time Ser Ertram arrived, all three men were begging for mercy. Guyard and I were knighted on the spot for our valor. Now, I am no longer Arron, the baby of Sandstone, but Ser Arron Qorgyle of the Raining Fern.”

“The Raining Fern?” Lyanna asked disbelievingly. “What is that?”

“Oh, that’s where I found and defeated the outlaws,” Ser Arron answered smugly.

“It’s the bush he was pissing on,” Ser Gulian gasped. “Arron’s named after the bush he was pissing on!”

“Gulian! Stop it!” Ser Arron cried, turning red enough to match his doublet.

“Raining Fern indeed!” Ser Gulian laughed. “Please tell her how your cock was still out when you knelt to be knighted!”

“GULIAN!” Ser Arron whined. “Father, make him stop!”

“I tell you, Lady Lyanna, it wasn’t his cock that had them begging for mercy!” Lyanna had to cover her mouth with her hands to keep from laughing out loud. Ser Arron looked at her and turned on his brother, fury in his eyes.

“Gulian, stop teasing your brother!” Lord Qorgyle said, biting back a smile.

“Fine, fine,” Ser Gulian said. “At least, until your Lady Love takes her leave!” _Lady Love?_ Lyanna thought with dread. _Elia is right. I need to stop humoring these boys before I get in trouble with Uncle Ali and Grandfather. Or worse: married._

Lyanna looked over her shoulder to see Lady Nym leading Jeyne and Jennelyn away, no doubt taking them to bed, and held back a yawn of her own.

“Tired, Lya?” Ser Arron said, grinning. “I’m feeling a little sleepy myself. Perhaps I can walk you to bed?” Ser Gulian choked back his laughter. Lyanna flushed in embarrassment and anger.

“You presume too much, _Ser Arron of the Raining Fern_ ,” she snapped back hotly. Ser Arron shrank in terror and Ser Gulian fell off his seat, roaring in laughter.

“I apologize for my sons,” Lord Qorgyle said, shaking his head in exasperation. “As you can see, even knighthood doesn’t always make you a man.”

“Perhaps I could give you a lesson or two on courting a lady, Arron.” Ser Gulian laughed.

“You’re not any better,” Ser Arron protested. “Father arranged your marriage with Lord Fowler. You had no part in it.” _Lord Fowler?! Ser Gulian is marrying one of the Fowler twins? But he’s the heir to Sandstone! Whoever he's marrying, the other is sure to be the heir to Skyreach! It must be Jeyne, then! Jennelyn must be the heir to Skyreach!_

“Seven hells, Arron!” Ser Gulian said, outraged. “That was _supposed_ to be a secret!”

“I’m sorry,” Ser Arron said weakly. “It just sort of slipped out!”

“Well, now the betrothal’s off. An alliance with one of the wealthiest families in Dorne, shattered because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut,” Ser Gulian gritted darkly.

“Not necessarily,” Lord Qorgyle said, calmly. “We just need to make sure no one else knows.” He turned to Lyanna. “We would consider it a great favor if you could keep what you heard to yourself, my Lady,” he said solemnly.

“Of course, my Lord,” Lyanna answered. “No one shall hear it from me.” She turned to Ser Gulian, who took a break from glaring at his brother to give her a thankful look “You’re marrying Jeyne Fowler?” Lyanna asked the elder knight.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Her sister. Jennelyn.” _What?!_ All of Lyanna’s thoughts came to a screeching halt.

“But I thought Jennelyn was the heir to Skyreach,” Lyanna said quietly, totally confused. _But Jennelyn said Lord Fowler said Jeyne wasn’t the heir. But she’s marrying into the Qorgyles? Does Jennelyn know? Was she lying? Or have Jane and Lord Fowler deceived her? But Jeyne’s anger seemed so real._

“Lord Fowler confided in us that Jeyne is the elder of the twins,” Lord Qorgyle whispered, makng sure no one could overhear. “He’s agreed to marry Jennelyn to Gulian as long as we remain silent about both the betrothal and the inheritance.”

“I don’t understand the need for all this secrecy,” Ser Arron said darkly, no doubt still smarting from his brother’s reproach.

“House Fowler controls the Pass,” Lord Qorgyle answered. _Not for long, if Quentyn has his way_. “They are one of the wealthiest families in Dorne, just below the Martells and the Daynes of Starfall.” He looked pointedly at Lyanna when mentioning her family and she nodded in return. Her Grandfather’s wealth was no great secret. Starfall sat at the mouth of the Torrentine, after all. It had nutrient rich soil perfect for farming all kinds of fruits, vegetables, and grain. The mountains also provided wealth, this time in the highest quality iron. Lyanna’s grandfather often told her that the Daynes’ superior steel weapons and armor were partly to thank for their reputations as the finest knights in Westeros. Finally, Starfall was one of the busiest ports in Dorne. Lord Dayne and his forebears took advantage of their position at the mouth of the Torrentine to build the city on both the East and West banks of the river and import artisans, armorers, smiths, jewelers, and tailors, making the city surrounding the beautiful castle the envy of the world.

“Every family in Dorne wants some ties to Skyreach. By hiding the identity of the heir, Lord Franklyn seeks to keep the other Lords from trying to gain influence,” Lord Qorgyle continued.

“Smart man, that Lord Fowler,” Ser Gulian commented. _Aye, maybe,_ Lyanna thought. _But now I’m confused._

“Speaking of betrothals…” Ser Arron chimed in hopefully. Lyanna panicked. She didn’t want to marry Ser Arron, that was for sure, but there was no good way to tell a man to go to hell in front of his father and brother. And Lyanna did _like_ Ser Gulian and Lord Qorgyle.

“What the hell is that?” Ser Gulian said abruptly, cutting his brother off. _A true knight, that one_ , Lyanna thought, flashing Ser Gulian a grateful smile. She turned to see Ghost standing atop the table, scaring the Seven Hells out of everyone near him save for Elia and Ned, who seemed to enjoy all the fuss. From what Lyanna could tell, the Frey boys had finished with Lord Fowler and moved on to pestering Elia until Ghost scared them off. Janos Frey had bolted away and Joros Frey sat on his ass looking at Ghost, his skin so pale with fright it resembled the direwolf’s fur. Lyanna looked to Walda Frey and was amused to see her roll her eyes. The young Lady Frey seemed more entertained than concerned that the direwolf would rob her family of one of their numerous members.

“I had better go deal with Ghost,” Lyanna said, standing up. Ser Arron mad to protest but was cut off yet again, this time by his father.

“It was an absolute pleasure to meet you, Lady Lyanna,” Lord Qorgyle said genuinely.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Lyanna said honestly. “I hope to see you soon, Lord Qorgyle, Ser Gulian.” Ser Gulian laughed loudly at the way Lyanna pointedly ignored Ser Arron, who looked for all the world like a kicked puppy. As she left the Qorgyles’ table, she heard Ser Gulian’s teasing voice saying, _‘I told you not to come on too hard, brother. You scared her off.’_

 

“What happened with him?” Lyanna asked, looking at where the Frey boy sat as soon as she reached the Daynes’ table. Ghost jumped down from the table to greet her and she rolled her eyes affectionately.

“The Frey boys came here asking for you,” Elia snorted. “Weren’t very polite about it, so Ghost offered to teach them some manners.”

“He’s a smart one,” Lyanna laughed, scratching Ghost behind the ears.

“I doubt Old Walder Frey would even notice if two of his boys went missing,” Elia pointed out, pouring herself another cup of wine. “I also figured you’d need a distraction to get away from the Qorgyles.”

“Thanks,” Lyanna said gratefully. “Ser Arron didn’t seem like he’d let me leave without getting me into a marriage bed.”

“Think about it this way,” Elia offered helpfully. “Most boys would have been satisfied with _any_ bed.”

“That’s not helpful at all!” Lyanna exclaimed. “Gods, are _all_ boys this stupid when they meet a woman?”

“You know who my father is,” Elia laughed, “so the answer is yes. Though you aren’t just _a woman_. You’re beautiful, and that’s why all the boys our age seem to have lost their minds.”

“Thanks, Elia,” Lyanna flushed. “You’re the best. The absolute best.”

“So, what happened with you?” Elia asked. “Get any closer to figuring out Prince Doran’s test”

“So much happened!” Lyanna said. “I talked to Lady Nym and the Fowler twins, and they each are convinced that they’re the heir.”

“That’s unhelpful,” Elia frowned.

“Yeah, well, I found out that Jeyne Fowler screwed up really badly recently. According to Jennelyn, it was so bad that Lord Fowler confided with his master-at-arms that he was thankful Jeyne wasn’t the heir.”

“That’s great!” Elia exclaimed.

“Not for Jeyne Fowler,” Lyanna pointed out sarcastically.

“Hush you,” Elia chastised. “It’s great because now we know! It’s Jennelyn Fowler.”

“But that’s the problem,” Lyanna protested. “I got pulled away by the Qorgyles, but I did learn something interesting.” Se leaned in to whisper into Elia’s ear conspiratorially. “Apparently, Lord Fowler entered his daughter into a secret betrothal with Ser Gulian Qorgyle, the heir to Sandstone. The thing is, the daughter Ser Gulian will marry is _Jennelyn Fowler._ Lord Qorgyle said Lord Fowler told them that Jeyne is his eldest and heir.” Elia’s eyes widened.

“Gods,” she muttered darkly. “So, one of them is lying.”

“Aye, Lyanna said sadly. “Either Jennelyn Fowler was lying to Jeyne about what their father said or Lord Fowler lied to Lord Qorgyle.”

“But that makes no sense,” Lyanna said. “Lord Fowler may be wealthy, but there’s no way he could get away with lying to a fellow Lord like that. And what could he gain from deceiving Lord Qorgyle?”

“Perhaps Lord Qorgyle was lying? Maybe he’s helping Prince Doran confuse you?” Lyanna shook her head.

“I don’t think Ser Arron is that bright, and he’d have to be a fantastic mummer to feign that sort of accidental outburst and remorse. Lord Qorgyle and Ser Gulian were genuinely worried that I’d give away the betrothal and spoil everything. I think they were telling the truth.”

“Or at least the truth as they know it,” Elia mused. “Maybe Jennelyn was lying?”

“I don’t know,” Lyanna frowned, wrinkling her brow. “I could swear they were being genuine. But both Jennelyn _and_ Lord Qorgyle can’t be right, can they?”

“I don’t know,” Elia admitted. “We need a new plan.”

“Jeyne and Jennelyn are probably in Lady Nym’s bed right now,” Lyanna guessed. “I don’t know about you, but I have no interest in interrupting them.” Elia barked out a laugh.

“Maybe the best way forwards involves Lord Fowler himself?” Elia suggested.

“Perhaps, but I can’t very well approach him, can I?” Lyanna mused aloud. “And even if I did, I doubt he’d tell me what’s going on.”

“Maybe we ask Tyene to slip something in his drink?” Elia laughed. Lyanna snorted and tried to keep from laughing out loud. “I’m sure she has something that would – ” She was interrupted by someone coming up behind Lyanna.

“My ladies.” Lyanna turned around to see the source of the voice: a young man about Theon’s age wearing a red doublet. There was a blue pall with a white border that looked like a forking river over his heart. Lyanna remembered him as Ben Coldwater from Coldwater Burn in the Vale. They’d danced once before Lyanna was pulled away by the Frey boys. Lyanna shuddered at the memory of Janos and Joros Frey leering at her and fighting each other as each tried to take her to bed. Thankfully, Ben Coldwater seemed like more of a gentleman, and Lyanna wasn’t as annoyed with him the way she was with Ser Arron or the Freys.

“Ben Coldwater,” Lyanna said to Elia, who looked at the two with a quirked brow. “Hello Ben,” Lyanna said cheerily. “How are you enjoying the feast?”

“Very well,” Ben said, grinning. “The Arryns never throw such lavish celebrations back in the Vale. The wine here is lovely.”

“It is,” Lyanna agreed, taking a sip from her goblet. She’d finished a fair few cups after Ira had stopped watching her, and she was feeling a bit lightheaded. “Are you well acquainted with Robert Arryn?” Lyanna asked.

“Only a little,” Ben admitted. “He lives in King’s Landing with his mother and father.” _Of course_ , Lyanna thought. Jon Arryn was the Hand of the King, after all, and that his wife and son lived in the capital with him was no great surprise. “I’ve only met him on occasion when we visit the Arryns. Why the interest in Robert Arryn, if I may ask?”

“His cousins are my siblings,” Lyanna said by way of explanation. “I’m curious how much Robin Arryn resembles them. I wonder if he’s very much like Robb.”

“Somehow, my Lady, I doubt it,” Ben laughed humorlessly. Lyanna and Elia shared a look. “Forgive me, it doesn’t become one to speak ill of his liege lord’s son…” he trailed off meaningfully, and Lyanna knew there was more he had to say about Robert Arryn.

“But?” Lyanna added, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“…but, there are some doubts about Robert Arryn’s fitness to lead the Vale after his father,” Ben said conspiratorially. “I’m afraid the boy hasn’t inherited Lord Jon’s strength.” Lyanna remembered her father telling her and Robb about the Rebellion, where he, Lord Jon Arryn, and King Robert Baratheon overthrew the Mad King. Lyanna’s father always described Jon Arryn as strong and noble – a great leader and foster-father. Lyanna was disappointed to learn that his son didn’t share those admirable qualities. “The fault lies with Lady Lysa, I’m afraid,” Ben continued, his aversion to speaking ill of his betters seemingly deserting him. “She smothers the boy, and as a result, Robert is small, weak, and sickly, poorly suited to life in the Eyrie.”

“I imagine that must have been disappointing,” Lyanna said.

“It was,” Ben agreed. “My uncle was furious when we returned to Coldwater Burn. He said he’d rather follow one of Yohn Royce’s sons than a sickly boy hiding behind his mother’s skirts” Lyanna noted the way his eyes involuntarily drifted to where Lord Royce and Minisa Coldwater sat talking with, of all people, _Lord Fowler_. Lord Royce and Lord Fowler were arguing quietly, and Lord Fowler repeatedly pointed to Lord Morrigan. _Strange_ , Lyanna thought. From the look on Elia’s face, Lyanna guessed she saw the same thing.

“Your uncle sounds very… stern,” Lyanna said carefully. Ben snorted.

“Stern is one word for it,” he said, shaking his head. “My uncle is far from sentimental, and he has a very narrow idea of what boys and girls should be. All the boys need to be big, strong, tough warriors and the girls meek and deferential. My uncle would marry his own daughter off to a raider from the mountain clans if he thought there was some advantage for him.” Lyanna appreciated the disdain in Ben’s tone.

“I’m rather grateful that attitude isn’t very common in Dorne,” Lyanna said honestly. She didn’t want to know what Lord Royce Coldwater made of her preference of swords and roughspun tunics to marriage cloaks. She looked at Elia expecting agreement, but Elia was looking off in the distance, lost in thought over something Ben Coldwater had said.

“Uncommon, yes, but not totally unheard of,” Ben remarked snidely, eyes staring daggers at where Lord Coldwater and Lord Fowler seemed to have calmed down. Lord Fowler gave Lord Coldwater a gruff nod, pointedly _did not_ shake his hand – electing for an almost-friendly pat on the shoulder – and walked away unaware of Ben’s hard gaze. Lord Coldwater gave Lord Fowler a hard look before turning back to his meal. Lady Minisa seemed shaken, almost on the verge of tears, and Lyanna noted that Minisa seemed her own age. _Well, I am learning about Lord Fowler_ , Lyanna thought. _I wonder what he was saying to Lord Coldwater that had Minisa so upset. Either way, I doubt it’s relevant to my inquiries._

“Anyways,” Ben continued, “Did you know my father and yours were friends?” Lyanna did not, in fact, know that.

“Were they?” she asked. Lord Stark never mentioned the Coldwaters, though he was fostered in the Eyrie, so there was a good chance they’d met.

“Both of them were in the Eyrie. My father was squired to Ser Elbert Arryn when yours came to the Vale to be fostered with King Robert under Lord Jon. His name was Ser Belways Coldwater. Are you sure your father never spoke of him? He died at your father’s side on the Trident when I was very young.” He sounded disappointed, and Lyanna felt bad for him. He deserved to think that his father died a hero, especially if Ser Belways Coldwater fought besides the Starks during the Rebellion.”

“Ser Belways?” Lyanna asked, feigning recognition. “My father mentioned him – said he was a fine swordsman who died with honor.”

“He did, didn’t he,” Ben said proudly. “Lord Royce said he led the Coldwater men-at-arms, and they formed the vanguard with only the bravest men.”

“What are you doing?” Elia hissed. “Don’t forget about you-know-what.”

“I didn’t forget,” Lyanna retorted stubbornly. “I just…”

“Stop entertaining your lovers and focus if you want to win!” Elia snapped.

“Lovers?” Ben sputtered, reddening. Lyanna noted his flush and decided that she didn’t need another suitor distracting her from her wager with Prince Doran.

“I’m sorry, Ben, but can we continue this conversation another time? I’m afraid Elia and I have some matters to resolve.” Lyanna flashed Ben a sorry smile, and thankfully, he didn’t seem to take any offense.

“There’s no matter, Lady Lyanna,” he said genuinely, kissing the back of her hand. “I will look forwards to our next encounter with a great eagerness.” With that, Ben Coldwater stepped away politely, bowing one more time before leaving for his own table. Lyanna appreciated the way he took the hint without protests and decided that while she wasn’t interested in _marrying_ him, Ben Coldwater was a fine gentleman all the same.

“Alright, Elia,” she said, turning to her friend. Elia did look decently apologetic for snapping earlier. “What should we do?”

“I have some ideas,” Elia said, thoughtfully. “Do you remember what the Coldwater boy said about his uncle? How Royce Coldwater would marry his daughter off to a mountain man.”

“I do,” Lyanna said. “What of it?”

“Don’t you think that might be relevant to what Royce Coldwater and Franklyn Fowler were talking about?”

“Ben did seem to imply that Lord Fowler shared Lord Coldwater’s views,” Lyanna mused. “Do you think Lord Fowler plans on marrying Minisa Coldwater off to someone?”

“Probably,” Elia mused. “Maybe he has a nephew or a bastard son?”

“Maybe,” Lyanna said thoughtfully. “But I don’t think that helps us. Either Jennelyn or Lord Qorgyle was lying, and we don’t know who.”

“I still think Lord Fowler’s movements and conversations will be helpful,” Elia said. “Who has he been talking to?”

“Lord Coldwater, of course.” Elia nodded in agreement. “Then I saw him talking with Lord Tollet, Ser Richard Morrigan, and the Freys.”

“I saw him talking to Lord Vaith,” Elia said. She looked queerly over Lyanna’s shoulder. “Wait… Is that Ned?”

Lyanna looked over to the Vaiths’ table, where Ned seemed to be getting interrogated by Lord Daeron Vaith. The poor boy was stammering and blushing all the way to the seams of his poofy hat, and little Lyssa Sand was on the verge of tears. “Why don’t you think on this some more. I’m going to go and rescue my cousin.”

“Good idea,” Elia agreed. “I’ll figure out our next line of inquiry.” A serving girl walked by with a large pomegranate cake and Elia’s eyes lit up. “I got it! Our next line of inquiry is how much of this cake I can eat before throwing up,” she said, gesturing for the girl and taking the entire cake for herself as the poor girl stammered protests. Lyanna laughed and shook her head.

“Keep an eye on her, Ghost,” she said to the direwolf. Lyanna could have sworn that the direwolf nodded before going back to lounging on the floor at Elia’s feet, his perceptive blood-red eyes casually surveying the hall as some of the guests started trickling out.

 

When Lyanna strolled over to the Vaith table, the first thing she noticed was that Lord Daeron Vaith had a medallion in his hands that he fiddled with when he got angry. And he was angry. His face was bright red behind his bushy black moustache, and he was shouting and spitting with fury. Ned, the poor recipient of Lord Vaith’s rage, sat petrified as Lord Vaith spat invectives and curses at Ned, his father, his grandfather, and anyone who bore the name _Dayne_. Lyssa sat next to the furious lord, tears barely drying on her plump cheeks before new ones replaced them. With a sigh, Lyanna sat down next to Ned, giving Lord Vaith her brightest smile.

“Good evening, my Lord,” she said cheerily. “May I ask how my cousin offended you?”

“He made my Lyssa cry!” Lord Vaith said angrily. Lyanna guessed that his spitting fury wasn’t helping calm the girl down. She turned to Lyssa and smiled softly.

“Lady Lyssa, what is the matter?” she asked kindly, reaching over the table to wipe the girl’s tears away.

“I… want… to marry… Ned!” she wailed in between sobs. _Aww_ , Lyanna thought affectionately. _The poor girl’s taken a fancy to Ned._ Ned, though, seemed horrified. He turned to Lyanna, eyes pleading for help.

“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I don’t know what I said.”

“Honestly Ned, you have no idea how to talk to a Lady,” Lyanna chastised. “I’m sure you get that from your father.”

“No argument there,” Ned muttered.

“Go back to our table and make sure Elia doesn’t throw up,” Lyanna instructed, looking to where the girl was practically inhaling pomegranate cake. “If she eats anymore of that damned cake she’s going to turn purple.”

“Now just you wait,” Lord Vaith protested.

“Go, Ned,” Lyanna said forcefully. “I’ll deal with this.”

“You’re a godsend, Lyanna,” Ned said breathlessly. “I mean it. I thank the Gods you came to Dorne.” Ned hugged her tightly and bolted out of his seat, nearly overturning a goblet of wine as he sprinted away without so much as a look back.

“So, Lyssa,” Lyanna said, turning back to the girl, who’d started to calm down. “You’re sad because Ned won’t marry you?” She asked, using her thumbs to wipe away the remainder of the girl’s tears. Lyssa nodded silently. “Can I tell you a secret?” Lyssa gave her a curious look, and Lyanna took that as an invitation to continue. “Ned’s scared,” she whispered conspiratorially into the younger girl’s ear.

“But he’s a Dayne!” Lyssa insisted. “They’re knights and ride elephants and fight bravely and are handsome and…” she started to cry again and Lyanna shushed her. “Nuncle Daeron says the Daynes are the bestest knights. But Ned doesn’t like me!” Lyanna looked at Lord Vaith questioningly.

“I rode with Beric and Ali Dayne during the Rebellion,” he said quietly. “I told my niece all about fighting by their side. She especially liked the story about Ali’s elephant.” _Mira_ , Lyanna thought sadly. Ali occasionally spoke of the elephant, who he acquired as a calf during a visit to Essos as a child. Ali trained her himself, feeding her milk and straw and blood oranges, her favorite food. Mira served him faithfully and loyally for fifteen years before dying in battle on the Trident, another member of the family cruelly taken by the Rebellion. Ali spoke of her only occasionally, and Lyanna guessed he loved the elephant like she loved Ghost.

“I assumed that Ali Dayne would teach his son better than to hurt a little girl, but I guess a bastard’s feelings don’t matter to the _honorable_ Daynes of Starfall,” Lord Vaith spat. _Oh_ , Lyanna thought, eyes widening in recognition. _I understand what the misunderstanding was._

“I fear that there has been a misunderstanding, my Lord,” Lyanna said respectfully. “Ned would never intentionally hurt someone, and he most certainly wouldn’t dare look down on someone for being a bastard.”

“Then?” Lord Vaith said impatiently, gesturing towards Lyssa.

“My Lord,” Lyanna said carefully, “Ned is twelve years old. He’s too young to think about marriage. I’d guess he just panicked. I’m sure he meant no insult.” She turned to Lyssa, who was still sniffling. “I think you’re a little too young to be married, sweetling.”

“But…” Lyssa protested, her lip quivering.

“Would you like to pet Ghost?” Lyanna interrupted, changing the subject before Lyssa could start crying again.

“Ghost?” Lord Vaith asked, puzzled. “Who is –” His face turned pale and Lyanna turned around to see the white direwolf already padding over to their table, startling some of the dancing couples. There were times when Lyanna wondered if the wolf could read her mind. This was one of those times; as soon as she turned to wave him over, Ghost was already there. It was as if he could instantly and wordlessly tell whenever Lyanna needed him.

“Aye,” Lyanna said, petting Ghost’s snout. She ran her fingers through the direwolf’s freshly shorn fur. “Ghost is my direwolf,” she explained. “I brought him with me when I came to Dorne.” Lyanna looked at Lyssa, who regarded the direwolf with wide, curious eyes.

“Is he friendly?” she asked quietly, squeaking when Ghost turned his blood-red eyes to her. Lord Vaith tried to discreetly reach for the hilt of his sword. _Ghost must be scarier than I thought_ , Lyanna mused with pride, looking at the wolf. The past couple of years in Dorne had been good to the wolf, and he rested his chin on the top of her head as if to show off his height.

“Aye, he’s friendly,” Lyanna assured her, pushing Ghost’s chin off of her head. Ghost responded by pushing his nose into her chest, no doubt hoping she’d scratch him behind his ears. “Come here,” Lyanna said to Lyssa, who was starting to shrink away in fear. “I promise, he’s harmless.”

“He is?” Lyssa asked, looking a little brighter.

“Aye, he is,” Lyanna assured her. “Come on, give him a scratch behind the ears and under the jaw. That’s his favorite place.” As if in agreement, Ghost nuzzled Lyanna as she scratched just behind his chin.

Lyssa looked at her uncle questioningly. Lord Vaith frowned darkly at the direwolf, twirling the medallion in his thick fingers as he pursed his lips. Lyanna took a look at the medallion and noticed that it was dark blue and gold, and Lord Vaith seemed to grip it tightly when he was nervous. Lyssa gave him her biggest pleading eyes, her dark brown irises finally looking hopeful. Finally, Lord Vaith sighed and gave in.

“Be careful,” he said sternly, though Lyanna could tell he probably couldn’t deny the girl anything, much like Lyanna and Arya, and Lyanna thought she liked Lord Vaith a little more.

Lyssa crawled underneath the table to where Lyanna was sitting and sat next to her, looking at Ghost excitedly.

“How do I pet him?” she asked bravely. Lyanna took her hand and guided it to Ghost’s neck and up to right behind his ear. Dutifully, Ghost sat on his haunches and tilted his head to give the girl easier access. _Smart wolf_ , Lyanna thought. _You’ve been very well behaved. I’ll be sure to reward you tonight._ Lyssa gasped in awe feeling the wolf’s fur under her fingers and turned to her uncle in excitement.

“Look Nuncle! I’m touching a _direwolf_!” she said, laughing.

“I see that, sweetling,” Lord Vaith said, shoulders relaxing as he saw that Ghost wasn’t going to eat his niece. Lyanna thought that when he wasn’t purpling in rage or tense enough to snap, Lord Daeron Vaith was quite handsome. He was obviously a young man. Despite his moustache and gruff demeanor, he must’ve been only a few years older than Theon, Lyanna figured. He was clearly a better parent than Theon, though Theon didn’t have any children yet. _Trueborn children_ , Lyanna mentally corrected as Lyssa stroked Ghost with both hands. _I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s fathered a dozen bastards. And Septa Mordane called **me** ‘wanton’!_

“His name is Ghost?” Lyssa asked.

“Aye, it is,” Lyanna answered. “I named him that because he never makes a sound and he’s white as snow.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ghost,” Lyssa said sweetly, extending a hand. Immediately, Ghost lifted a paw and placed it in her palm to shake.

“Smart wolf,” Lord Vaith remarked, smiling. “No wonder Prince Doran was willing to let him roam about.”

“I found him as a pup,” Lyanna said, “so he’s used to people walking around him and petting him. He and his siblings roamed Winterfell freely, and Grandfather lets him come and go throughout Starfall.”

“How many brothers and sisters does Ghost have?” Lyssa asked.

“Five,” Lyanna responded, grinning at Lord Vaith and Lyssa’s astonished looks. “Three brothers and two sisters.”

“How did Lord Stark not go grey with six direwolves running around his castle?!” Lord Vaith chuckled incredulously.

“Well, some of them are better trained than others.” Lyanna said fondly, remembering her siblings and how aptly their direwolf companions mirrored them. “Lady is the picture of grace and proper elegance, just like Sansa. Nymeria is wild and tiny, just like Arya. Summer is adventurous and sweet like Bran. Shaggydog is barely tamed and barks and snarls at everyone. He and Rickon would run around Winterfell naked and biting people if it wasn’t for Robb. And Robb’s direwolf, Grey Wind,” Lyanna said wistfully, remembering her best friend, “Grey Wind is charming and friendly and protective of his brothers and sisters. Just like Robb.”

“And Ghost?” Lord Vaith asked, as the great white wolf looked him dead in the eyes.

“Ghost is an albino mute,” Lyanna replied fondly. “He was the runt of the litter, left to die by his mother when I found him. He’s quiet as a whisper and can sneak around without anyone seeing him. I’ve seen him sneak food out of the kitchens by causing distractions to lure the cooks away. He’s the smartest of the pack too. Grandfather thinks he’s smarter than most men, and he can probably understand what we’re all saying.” Ghost sat and weathered Lyssa’s enthusiastic affections with what Lyanna swore was a smug look on his wolfish face. “Yes, he can definitely understand us.”

“Can I feed him?” Lyssa asked eagerly.

“Aye,” Lyanna said warmly. “He deserves a treat for his good behavior. Would you like some squid, Ghost?” she asked the direwolf. Promptly, Ghost stood up and padded over to the table, where several helpings of squid in a tangy sauce sat in a large plate. He pushed the entire plate of squid over to Lyssa and sat back down in front of her and Lyanna, his tail wagging wildly in anticipation.

“That’s a bloody smart wolf,” Lord Vaith whistled. Lyssa picked up a piece of squid with her thumb and dangled it in front of the wolf’s nose. She giggled happily when he took it, his rough tongue licking her fingers clean. “I must apologize for my behavior earlier, Lady Lyanna,” Lord Vaith said earnestly. “It was rude and uncouth to insult your cousin and your family. I overreacted unfairly and I ask your forgiveness.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, my Lord,” Lyanna responded kindly. “My father and my own uncles would probably react the same way. I’m glad you care so greatly for your niece.”

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna,” Lord Vaith grinned. “You’re right. I am a fair bit overprotective of Lyssa.” He looked on fondly as Lyssa stood on the seat and raised a piece of squid high in the air and Ghost drew up on his hind legs to snatch it, earning applause from the young girl. “I suppose it’s because of the circumstances of her birth. You see, she’s my older brother’s daughter.”

“Your older brother was Ser Borys Vaith, right?” Lyanna asked, trying to remember what she’d heard of the man. All she knew was that he left Dorne shortly before his mother passed away, leaving his younger brother to inherit Vaith. “I never knew he had a daughter.”

“Borys was a scoundrel,” Lord Vaith said darkly. “He fathered Lyssa off of some poor noblewoman in the Reach, a Cuy I think, and refused to acknowledge her as his own, even though it’s obvious Lyssa’s a Vaith. The poor woman took her own life out of shame, and baby Lyssa had nowhere else to go, so I took her in. _Ser Borys_ fled to Essos rather than raise his daughter like a real man would. I told him that if he ever came back, I’d throw him into the Sea of Dorne. Last I heard, he’d taken up with some sellsword company in the East. Good riddance, I say. If a man can’t do right by his child, he isn’t worthy of governing a castle.”

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Lyanna said. “I never knew.”

“It’s not a story I care to tell,” Lord Vaith grimaced, keeping his voice low so Lyssa couldn’t hear. “I met Lyssa’s mother once, to assure her that my brother would do the right thing. She was a good woman. Totally in love with Borys. She deserved better, and all I can do is give Lyssa the future she deserves.”

“You’re a good uncle, Lord Vaith,” Lyanna smiled. “Lyssa is lucky to have you.”

“I’m not,” Lord Vaith said guiltily. “If I was, I’d have named Lyssa the Lady of Vaith as is her right as my brother’s only child. Instead, I usurped her rightful seat and got betrothed, cutting her out of her inheritance forever.” Lord Vaith took a long pull straight from the pitcher of wine. “I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice. I tried to tell the son of a bitch that Lyssa was my heir, but there was nothing I could do. Vaith has debts, and the only way to get the coin I need to secure my family’s finances is to marry into one of the wealthiest houses in Dorne.” Abruptly, Lord Vaith stopped talking, his jaw shutting with an audible _clack_. His eyes bugged out and he looked around wildly hoping no one had heard him. _Wow_ , Lyanna thought. _Do all betrothals in Dorne involve this level of secrecy?_

“My congratulations, Lord Vaith,” Lyanna said cautiously. “I didn’t know you were to be married.”

“That’s because it was supposed to be a secret,” Lord Vaith mumbled. Lyanna noticed the way he stopped spinning the medallion in his hands and quickly tucked it into his pocket. Lyanna could swear she caught a bit of dark blue against the gold.

“So, you’re marrying into one of the wealthiest families in Dorne. I know it isn’t the Martells or the Daynes. Arianne would never give up ruling Sunspear and Dorne to become the consort of one of the lords in her command. And Allyria would have told me if she was betrothed, and she certainly wouldn’t have kept it a secret,” Lyanna mused aloud, looking to where Allyria was laughing loudly in conversation with a few men from the Salt Shore and Godsgrace. Lyanna’s youngest Aunt was anything but reserved when it came to the company of men. “Furthermore, Ynys Yronwood is already married, and I think Lady Gwenyth would rather remain the Lady of Yronwood than marry you and give it up. And I know Prince Quentyn is after her.”

“My Lady, please,” Lord Vaith hissed desperately. “I need this betrothal, and if anyone figures it out…”

“Lord Fowler will cancel it?” Lyanna finished triumphantly, crowing as Lord Vaith went completely pale. _I knew all of this sounded familiar!_ “Congratulations again on your betrothal to Lady Jennelyn,” she said, making to get up. _So, Lord Fowler promised Jennelyn to two different Lords? Ha! That will come back to haunt him! Either way, that confirms it. Jeyne is the heir!_

“Jeyne,” Lord Fowler said quietly, making Lyanna freeze in shock. “I’m marrying Jeyne.”

“What?” Lyanna exclaimed. Lord Vaith gestured for her to lower her voice, so she whispered, “But Jeyne is the heir to Skyreach!”

“No,” Lord Vaith said, shaking his head. “Jennelyn is the elder of the two. Lord Fowler told me this in confidence two moons ago. He promised me Jeyne and a dowry large enough to bring my family out of debt if I keep it to myself for a year.”

“But,” Lyanna sputtered, absolutely confused.

“Here,” Lord Vaith said, pulling the medallion from his pocket. It was a golden circle with a blue hooded songbird in the middle. Inscribed were the Fowler words, _Let Me Soar_. “The Old Hawk himself gave it to me. I guess Lyssa trusts you, so I can too. Will you keep this whole matter to yourself?”

“Of course, my Lord,” Lyanna said, regaining her composure. _I need to tell Elia this. What in the Seven Hells is going on?_

“Good,” Lord Vaith said, visibly relaxing. “I appreciate it greatly.”

“Aye,” Lyanna said, standing up. “Oh, and one more thing,” she added, smiling as Lyssa bid Ghost a fond farewell. “I may be older than Edric, but I was never jealous that he stands to rule Starfall one day and not I. Starfall is my home and Ned is my family, and nothing will ever change that. I know Lyssa will always be thankful that you raised her as your own, and she could never resent you for doing what ever it takes to protect your own family and home.”

“Thank you, Lady Lyanna,” Lord Vaith said gratefully. “That means a lot. It was wonderful to meet you.”

 

 

 

“What?” Elia exclaimed, outraged. Lyanna had told her of her conversation with Lord Vaith as soon as she sat down. Ned had only cared whether Lord Vaith still wanted his head and was lost after Lyanna confirmed that all had been forgiven. “That makes no sense at all!” Elia protested.

“I know,” Lyanna lamented. “That was my reaction too.”

“How can both Jeyne _and_ Jennelyn be betrothed to other heirs?”

“I don’t know! I’m certain that Lord Vaith was being honest.”

“Well, one of them is lying!”

“I know,” Lyanna said, resting her head on the table. “Gods, this is tough.”

“Well, I’ve been keeping an eye on Lord Vaith,” Elia said glumly, putting down her seventh or so helping of pomegranate cake. “I don’t think I saw him do anything out of the ordinary. He was very friendly to everyone, especially the Lords from North. He did hate the Freys, though.”

“Everyone hates the Freys, though,” Lyanna countered. “Seriously, I felt like they were staring at me all night.”

“That’s because they were,” Ned grumbled, cutting in.

“You would know,” Elia said snidely, grinning at how Ned flushed all the way down to his collar.

“Shut up, Elia,” Ned muttered into his food, refusing to meet Elia’s mischievous eyes or Lyanna’s confused ones. “What are you two talking about, anyways. I’m completely lost.”

“Nothing, Ned,” Elia said, cutting Lyanna off before she could speak. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.” She turned back to Lyanna. “Anyways, what’s our next plan of attack?”

“I don’t know anything we can do save confronting Lord Fowler ourselves,” Lyanna admitted.

“Than that’s what we’ll have to do,” Elia said, determinedly. “We just need to figure out a way of confronting him without raising suspicion.”

“Alright, how do we do that?” Lyanna asked, frowning.

“I have no fucking idea,” Elia confessed. Lyanna looked at her incredulously before the two fell apart laughing. Ned was somehow even more confused, and he turned to Ghost and said something that sounded like _‘Girls, right?’_

“What are you two giggling about,” Allyria said, sliding into the seat next to Lyanna. She looked completely exhausted, and she ran a hand nervously through her dark tresses. Several locks of hair had come undone and stuck to her forehead and over her eyes. “What mischief have you two started,” she asked Elia and Lyanna, who were still laughing.

“Nothing, Auntie Allyria,” Lyanna sang sweetly. For some reason, Allyria didn’t seem to believe her. She turned to Ghost, who had rolled on his back to present her his tummy.

“Has my niece caused any trouble tonight, Ghost?” she asked, rubbing the fearsome direwolf on his belly as he writhed in happiness.

“Say, Allyria,” Elia began thoughtfully. “What were you talking about with Lord Fowler?” _That’s right_ , Lyanna thought to herself. _Lord Fowler did speak with Auntie Allyria. I bet she could give us some insight._

“Lord Franklyn?” Allyria asked, wrinkling her nose. “We didn’t talk about much, really. Mostly whether I was going to marry Beric Dondarrion.” Lyanna remembered her grandfather talking about the Lightning Lord of Blackhaven on more than one occasion. It was a good match in theory: Lord Dondarrion was young and handsome and generally well-regarded, and he could possibly take Ned as his squire in the future. The only problem was that Auntie Allyria didn’t want to marry anyone, especially not a man she’d never met. “I told him I wasn’t interested in marriage, but he kept persisting, saying that a woman _my age_ shouldn’t be unmarried. Gods, I would have struck him had Oberyn not intervened.” Allyria shook her head in disbelief, her inky black hair bobbing around. “It was so _strange_! I mean, Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler are my age, and I’m pretty sure neither of them are betrothed!” Lyanna choked and Elia had to kick her in the shin to get her to compose herself.

“That is strange,” Elia said innocently. “What a strange man.” Allyria looked at her with suspicion and narrowed eyes, but decided not to pursue it, thankfully. Lyanna was glad; she didn’t know if she could convincingly lie to her aunt.

“Anyways, have you spoken with Princess Arianne?” Allyria asked, looking over to where the Princess sat talking to Ser Gerold and Tyene. Her father was speaking with Mellario and would occasionally glare at the Darkstar, but Arianne pointedly ignored him. _He wasn’t lying about punishing her_ , Lyanna noted dryly. _By the Old Gods and the New, I want no part of that._

“Lyanna thinks Arianne is a right bitch,” Elia said cheerily. _What the hell, Elia_ , Lyanna thought mutinously. Allyria gave Lyanna her best Ira-impression.

“Lyanna?” Allyria asked sternly, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t say that,” Lyanna protested. Elia coughed loudly and insincerely into her fist. “Ok, I did, but not in those words specifically.”

“Lyanna,” Allyria began, shaking her head. “This feast is in honor of Princess Arianne’s nameday. Have you forgotten your manners?”

“But it’s _Arianne!_ ” Lyanna whined. “She’s always so stuck-up and mean and she thinks she’s better than everyone just because she’s prettier than everyone else.”

“Lyanna! What has gotten into you?!” Allyria chastised.

“And she’s with the Darkstar! He’s such a jerk! He thinks he’s so great but he’s not! I don’t want to be anywhere near him!” Lyanna finished, interrupting Allyria.

“Are you done, Lyanna?” Allyria asked, suppressing a smile.

“Yes,” Lyanna said sheepishly, embarrassed by her outburst.

“Then you can go and introduce yourself to Princess Arianne and wish her well,” Allyria said smugly.

“Lyanna, look,” Elia whispered into her ear. She pointed to where the Morrigans of Crow’s Nest, who’d risen to meet Arianne and give her their gift. All Lyanna could see was Arianne’s smug face as she watched Lord after Lord come to bow and praise her. “Remember Lord Fowler getting into an argument with Ser Richard? I bet his brother would tell you what they were fighting over.”

“What makes you think that their argument will be relevant to the bet?” Lyanna asked, unconvinced.

“What bet?” Allyria asked curiously.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Elia waved her off. Allyria started to protest, but Ned held her back, gesturing to Elia and Lyanna as if to say, _‘No one knows what they’re talking about. Just ignore them.’_

“Anyways, Lyanna, go speak to the Princess,” Allyria said. Lyanna shook her head.

“I can’t,” she admitted, refusing to meet her Auntie’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Auntie Allyria, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Allyria asked, suddenly concerned. “Is something wrong? Because Princess Arianne may be a Princess, but that doesn’t mean she can say whatever she wants to you. If she did something, Prince Doran won’t stand for it. I mean, you’re practically a second daughter to him and Mellario. Arianne doesn’t get to insult you just because you’re a…” _Bastard_ , she was about to say, but Lyanna was grateful that she didn’t go that far.

“Oh, Allyria, it isn’t that,” Elia laughed. Lyanna gave her a murderous look. _Don’t you dare_ , she thought angrily. At Allyria’s confused look, she continued. “I don’t think Lyanna hates the Princess at all! She was telling me how she finds Arianne beautiful!”

“Stop it, Elia!”

“And her lips soft and lovely!”

“Elia!”

“And her _deep brown eyes_!” Lyanna tried to tackle Elia, who kept talking through her laughter. “And what did you call her figure? _Perfect_?”

“That’s not true!” Lyanna protested loudly. “She’s just so _infuriating_. And Ser Gerold is worse. And we have to act all polite as she laughs and dismisses us and Uncle Ali and Grandfather because she’s so mean and… and…”

“Older than us,” Ned supplied helpfully, glaring at Elia. Lyanna gave him a thankful smile, which he half-heartedly returned.

“Lyanna?” Elia said, almost apologetically. Lyanna flushed with embarrassment and refused to look Allyria in the eyes. Elia was right – she _did_ find Princess Arianne beautiful. Somehow, that made the future Ruling Princess of Dorne all the more infuriating, and Lyanna didn’t know how to talk to her without wanting to strangle the woman. There was something about Arianne’s smug, judgmental gaze that never failed to get under Lyanna’s skin, and the worst part was that Arianne _knew_ that, and she seemed more than happy to try to push Lyanna as far as she could.

“Well that may be the case, but you still have to talk to her,” Allyria said, giving Lyanna a sympathetic look. “It’s her celebration, and it’s only polite.” Lyanna looked at the Morrigans, where Ser Richard and his sister were arguing. They’d been angry ever since the conversation with Lord Fowler fell apart, and Lyanna would bet her sword that they were discussing the Old Hawk.

“Fine,” Lyanna grumbled. “I’ll talk to her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Another long chapter. This story is a lot longer than I had planned. The celebration at Sunspear was supposed to be 3 chapters, but now it's 5 Oh well. I hope this is satisfying.
> 
> Back when the main character was a boy, I planned on him having a kinda love/hate, mutually antagonistic relationship with Arianne. I thought about changing it now that the main character's a girl, but hey, it's 2018. Who says you can't be a girl and get the girl? Anyways, I said in the chapter notes after the first chapter that this isn't a particularly shippy story. Lyanna's a thirteen year old at the moment, and she's basically dealing with a kid's first crush and all the weird, complicated, and frustrating emotions that come with it.
> 
> In case you're wondering, yes, this story was heavily inspired by the story 'Hold Back the River', which has unfortunately been orphaned. It's the inspiration for how I wrote Arianne as the beautiful, infuriating Princess and Oberyn as the wacky fun uncle. It's a really good story and I hope someone picks it up and continues it, but in the meantime, you always have this one!
> 
> Finally, this chapter has some pretty course language. I don't think I need to change the rating just yet, but it will need to change to Mature in the next few chapters anyways, so I'm doing it now to be on the safe side. 
> 
> As always, I appreciate all the feedback and support. I may not respond to all the comments, but I do read them. So tell me what you liked, what you didn't and what you think I should do in the next chapters!
> 
> Next time: The Daynes of Starfall give Arianne her present


	8. The Celebration at Sunspear Part 3: Arianne's Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Daynes of Starfall present Princess Arianne with their gift, hoping to impress the fickle Princess where the other Lords and Ladies of Dorne had failed.

 

 

**Lyanna**

Ser Richard Morrigan was a rather tall fellow. He was taller than Lyanna’s father and broader too. The heir to the Crow’s Nest had a roughly cropped beard and thick eyebrows that were joined in the middle and sat over dark blue eyes. He wasn’t an especially handsome man, Lyanna thought. He had a large nose and thick lips and big ears that always flushed red. Even still, Lyanna thought he had a nice, warm smile when he looked at his sister. Anna Morrigan was actually very pretty. She was short with mousey brown hair, but she had a soft, heart-shaped face and a small, sweet smile. Ser Guyard, the youngest Morrigan, was short and stout, with an unfortunate stutter and twitchy ears that flared up when he got nervous.

Ser Richard, Ser Guyard, and Anna had been arguing when Lyanna had last seen them, but by the time she and Allyria walked by the Morrigans, they had clearly made up. As Lyanna and Allyria waited to speak with Princess Arianne, Lyanna tried to listen in on the Morrigans’ conversation.

“Perhaps we should go back home,” Ser Richard said, wrapping an arm around Anna, who was drying her tears with one hand.

“I agree,” Ser Guyard stammered. “I th-th-think this whole idea was a mistake.”

“No, it isn’t. We need to do this. There’s no other way,” Anna insisted, pulling herself together. _Well_ , Lyanna thought wryly. _That sounds interesting._

“Did you hear what he called you? Ruined!?” Ser Richard said, outraged. “That’s ridiculous. How dare he?” _Lord Fowler said that?_

“Richard…” Anna said quietly.

“No one talks to my sister like that!” Ser Richard continued. Anna shushed him and Lyanna turned away when Ser Guyard looked around, trying to make sure no one was listening in. She could feel Ser Guyard’s gaze as she watched Princess Arianne accept a chest full of silks from Lys, a gift from the Tolands of Ghost Hill. Arianne held one of them up to her body and modelled it or Tyene. Lyanna noted that the dress was extremely revealing, definitely bedroom wear. She flushed when Arianne turned and caught Lyanna staring. Embarrassed, Lyanna turned back to the Morrigans’ conversation.

“I just want Anna to be happy,” Ser Guyard said quietly. “Do you think you’ll be happy here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Anna said resigned.

“It does matter,” Ser Richard insisted.

“No it doesn’t, Richard! _Listen to me_!” Ser Richard and Ser Guyard stopped talking and listened. “You may not like it, but Lord Fowler is right. In the eyes of the realm I am ruined.” Ser Richard opened his mouth but Anna cut him off. “Don’t. I know the mistake I made, and I know that will follow me forever. If this is the best I can do, then this is the best I can do. Do I have your support or not?”

“Or c-c-course you do, Anna,” Ser Guyard said softly. “Whatever you decide you want, we’ll support you.”

“And you, Richard?” Anna asked her older brother.

“Anna, you know that I love you, right?” Ser Richard insisted. “I’m scared that you’ll be trapped here, that he won’t be able to give you the life you deserve.”

“I love you too, Richie,” Anna said, tears welling up in her eyes. “But I need you to support me in this.” Lyanna felt more than a little ashamed to be listening in on such an intimate, personal conversation, but she was learning a lot about Franklyn Fowler’s activities. _So, Lord Fowler has been arranging multiple betrothals? The man is very actively involved._

“If this is truly what you want, Anna, then you have my complete support,” Ser Richard said, forcing a smile. Lyanna noted that his lips were tightened to a thin line, and she could recognize his insincerity. Nevertheless, she could tell Anna appreciated his effort. Lyanna let her eyes wander naturally before the Morrigans could catch her eavesdropping but kept her ears trained of the three from the Crow’s Nest. This conversation had proved rather enlightening, but Lyanna couldn’t see where it fit into Doran’s riddle, if it did at all.

“Let that be the end of it,” Anna said. “Why don’t we talk about something else?” _No_ , Lyanna thought. _I need to know more. Who is Lord Fowler arranging this betrothal for? And what does it have to do with Skyreach?_ “Guyard, is that _Lyanna Snow_ I see over there?” Lyanna bit back the urge to whip her head when she heard Anna Morrigan say her name. _Seven hells! Not again!_

“I think so,” Ser Richard agreed. Lyanna couldn’t see him, but she could feel his eyes burning holes in the back of her head. Lyanna tried to pay attention to Allyria’s conversation with one of the Dayne knights, Ser Duncan Sand, her grandfather’s brother’s bastard son.

The knights of House Dayne were renowned for their chivalry, valor, and unnatural deadliness in battle. Lyanna recalled her grandfather telling her that all sons of Starfall Sand and Dayne alike were expected to squire and eventually become knights themselves. Lord Dayne had explained to her and Ned that Ned would likely squire for Ser Duncan in a few years, just as Ali did for Lord Sigmund Dayne of High Hermitage, Ser Arthur did for Ser Barristan the Bold in King’s Landing, and she currently did for Prince Oberyn in both Starfall and Sunspear. Ser Duncan squired for Prince Doran himself for seven years and returned to Starfall after earning his knighthood to take his place among Lord Beric Dayne’s men-at-arms. He was deadly with longsword and mace alike, and Lyanna always woke early to watch him spar with Lord Dayne, Uncle Ali, and his own half-brothers, Sers Lyle and Allem Dayne. They didn’t fight like Jory and Ser Rodrick back in Winterfell, Lyanna had noted immediately. They fought with more flourish and skill, spinning their blades expertly and dancing lightly on the balls of their feet. It was a completely different style than the rough hacking and slashing she’d seen Robb and Theon learn in Winterfell, one that felt more enjoyable to watch.

Ser Duncan himself was a smaller man in comparison to some of his peers, like Ser Yves, who rivaled Hodor in size, but he more than made up for it in ferocity. Lyanna especially liked that he always included her in their morning training; after a few moons of studying under Prince Oberyn and Master Qarro she could at least give the older knights a decent spar, and after _two years_ she could take the occasional win. While Lyanna loved her uncle and grandfather dearly, she did appreciate how Ser Duncan was the first of the Daynes to see her as a fellow warrior and not as a little girl playing with swords, and he treated her as he the other squires in the castle.

Lyanna tried to pretend she couldn’t hear the Morrigans, hoping that they’d leave her alone, and Ser Duncan smiled knowingly.

“Have you enjoyed the feast so far, Lya?” he asked kindly, drawing her mind away from the Morrigans’ conversation.

“I did,” Lyanna said earnestly. “I thought it would be very stuffy, but I had a lot of fun. More fun than in Wintefell.”

“Yes, feasts in Sunspear were always wild,” Ser Duncan said wistfully. “I remember back when I was a young squire. Daemon and I would drink each other under the table and then ride out through the Shadow City. The feast would still be going by the time we came back.”

“Elia and I are probably going to go riding later,” Lyanna said excitedly. “I’ll be happy to get out of this dress and into some decent clothes soon,” she admitted.

“I’m surprised you haven’t ruined it already,” Allyria laughed. Lyanna pouted but had to bite back a smile all the same. “I’m impressed, Lya,” she said, patting Lyanna’s shoulder. “You’ve done very well tonight. We’re all very proud.”

“Except for Lord Dayne,” Ser Duncan laughed. “I bet he regrets not letting you dress like Elia.”

“What do you mean?” Lyanna asked. Ser Duncan just grinned coyly and tilted his head. His blue eyes were glittering as he looked somewhere just over Lyanna’s shoulder. Before Lyanna could ask any further questions, they were answered by a soft voice behind her, one she could unfortunately recognize.

“E-Excuse me?” Ser Guyard Morrigan stuttered, trying to get her attention. Lyanna bit back a curse before schooling her face into a polite smile and turning to greet him.

“Ser Guyard,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “What a pleasure to see you again.”

“N-Not as m-much as it is to see y-you, Lady Lyanna,” he said, smiling nervously. Lyanna rather thought he looked as if he was going to be sick any minute, and she wanted to take a few steps back to stay out of range. “My name is Ser G-Guyard M-Morrigan of the Crow’s Nest,” he said, introducing himself to Allyria and Ser Duncan.

“My aunt, Allyria Dayne, and my mother’s cousin, Ser Duncan Sand,” Lyanna said, introducing them. She glared at Allyria, who covered her mouth to hold back her giggles.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” Ser Guyard said. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to figure out what to say.

“I met Ser Arron Qorgyle,” Lyanna offered, uncomfortable with Ser Guyard’s silence. “He told me of how you and he earned your knighthoods.”

“He did?” Ser Guyard squeaked. Lyanna charitably ignored the way his voice cracked, sounding more like a squealing pig than a brave knight.

“He told me of the bandits you two discovered,” Lyanna summarized. Truthfully, she couldn’t remember much more than that. She vaguely recalled Ser Arron mentioning squiring for someone – the foul knight? _The bowel knight? The Owl Knight! That’s the one!_ She’d been bored to tears throughout his story, and she only started listening when the topic of the Fowlers had come up.

“I bet he made it sound real brave,” Ser Guyard muttered darkly.

“I’m sure both of you _were_ brave,” Lyanna said sympathetically. She glanced over to the Qorgyles’ table, where Ser Arron was staring at her and Ser Guyard, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Arron p-probably acted like he w-was a hero and I was a coward,” Ser Guyard said angrily. “W-Well, t-that’s a l-lie.” Lyanna noted that his stammer was getting worse as he got more and more animated. “H-He was the one w-who screamed w-when he s-saw them. I-I just wanted to g-go b-back to the c-cabin.” Lyanna tried to get his attention, but Ser Guyard was too far gone. Ser Duncan and Allyria looked at him with both alarm and amusement. “H-He had to s-scream and g-get t-their attention. W-What he d-d-d-didn’t tell you is that t-the b-bandits beat us. A-All of us. They knocked Ser Ertram out and escaped. B-By the t-time the others a-arrived, they w-were gone. Ser Ertram knighted us in exchange for our s-silence.” _That’s certainly not what Ser Arron told me. And Ser Ertram Mertyns? Owl Knight of Mistwood indeed_ , she thought dryly. Lyanna remembered how Ser Gulian took the piss out of his younger brother and wondered how he’d react to knowing the truth. _I’d better remember this for later_ , she mused.

“Richard thinks I’m a fraud,” Ser Guyard lamented. Lyanna looked to Allyria in panic, wondering if all men were this lousy at courting women. Lyanna had to admit, she did agree with Ser Richard’s assessment. She couldn’t say that out loud, though. Not if she wanted the young ‘knight’ to break down in front of her.

“I’m sure he thinks you’re a brave,” Lyanna said kindly. “Ser Richard probably just wants your knighthood to reflect your true potential.”

“You think so?” Ser Guyard – or rather just _Guyard_ – said almost hopefully. _No_

“I do,” Lyanna lied. “I bet Ser Richard is just angry that you’ve been cheated. You should be knighted for your own deeds, not just because Ser Mertyns looked a fool and wanted no one to know.” Guyard brightened a little.

“I’m surprised you remember my brother’s name,” Guyard said. Lyanna didn’t want to tell him that he’d just told her Ser Richard’s name, so she just inclined her head. Guyard grinned widely, and though Lyanna felt extremely uncomfortable leading him on, she realized this was the perfect opportunity to learn what the Morrigans were doing with Lord Fowler, and what they knew about his heir.

“You have an older sister too, right?” Lyanna asked innocently. Allyria gave her a queer look before shrugging and taking her place back in line. She and Ser Duncan stood between the Jordaynes – Lord Trebor Jordayne and his daughter and heir Myria – and the Yronwoods – Lord Anders, Lady Gwenyth, and Ser Cletus, who didn’t take his eyes off of Lyanna. The Dalts were at the front, giving Arianne a gleaming golden sword in a carved golden sheath. Arianne held the weapon disinterestedly, sparing a fleeting glance at the intricately decorated blade. Lyanna could just barely make out the blade’s carving as the light shone through the valleys of the relief, and she instantly recognized it as a copy of a mural depicting Nymeria’s Conquest. It was a beautiful gift, especially for the woman who’d one day inherit Nymeria’s Kingdom, but Arianne already seemed bored, and she waved the Dalts off with words of insincere gratitude. Lyanna turned back to Guyard before her blood could boil anymore. Gods, the Princess was insufferable.

“Anna,” Guyard replied fondly. “She’s a bit older than you, but not by much.”

“She seems very kind,” Lyanna said sincerely. There was something about the way she carried herself that made Lyanna feel for Anna Morrigan. There was something she was hiding, something that hurt her deeply. Lyanna thought back to the conversation she’d overheard. _Anna made a mistake, one that she thinks ruined her. Could she have gotten pregnant? I know that North of Dorne that is a grave error for a woman to make. Maybe she’s here to marry because there’s no one else who would take her? But what does that have to do with Lord Fowler?_

“She is,” Guyard agreed insistently. “She deserves the best. I just wish…” he trailed off, and Lyanna almost screamed in frustration. _Just tell me!_

“Wish what, Ser Guyard?” Lyanna asked sweetly. Guyard stiffened and shut his mouth with an audible _clack_.

“Er….” He paused, eyes refusing to meet hers. Lyanna realized that he was shutting her out and changed the subject rather than press him. It was frustrating, though. Lyanna felt as if everyone had some sort of secret dealings with the Fowlers.

“I wonder why you three came all the way to Dorne,” Lyanna said offhandedly. She tried to sound indifferent, but she paid close attention to the way Guyard stiffened. “It must have been quite the journey from the Crow’s Nest.”

“It was n-not too d-difficult a j-journey,” Guyard deflected. Lyanna noticed his stammer was back. _He’s hiding something_.

“Of course, the Coldwaters came all the way from the Vale,” Lyanna said. “Lord Royce Coldwater brought his daughter, Minisa, and his nephew, Ben.” Guyard seemed like he was going to burst, and Lyanna noticed the way he flinched at both Ben and Minisa’s name. His reaction to her reference to Ben Coldwater was understandable, assuming Elia was right and they were both interested in courting her, but his reaction to Minisa was strange. Lyanna looked at the Coldwaters, lost in thought. _Does Anna Morrigan have some competition?_ Lyanna wondered. _Who’s getting married? Perhaps a childless lord?_ There weren’t many lords without heirs. Lord Ryon Allyrion of Godsgrace had recently married, and his Yronwood wife was just showing from their first pregnancy. Tremond Gargalen was young and unmarried. Other than him, Lyanna couldn’t think of any lords or heirs so desirable that both the Morrigans and the Coldwaters would travel so far to throw their daughters at him. And why would Lord Fowler be negotiating on behalf of Lord Gargalen. _Perhaps Lord Fowler has an older son? One he kept secret? Perhaps Ser Dylan Fowler had a son? Does he mean to give his castle to his brother’s child like Lord Vaith wanted?_

As Lyanna turned back to Guyard to ask him more, the poor boy was violently shoved away, and two leering Freys replaced him.

“Lyanna Snow,” the taller one, Joros Frey, sneered. “I tried to approach your table but there was a great big beast.”

“I bet you would look great in its skin,” Janos said, lowering his voice. He and Joros glared at Guyard threateningly until the boy scrambled away.

“Can you believe that little cunt is a knight?” Joros laughed meanly. “I don’t know why he was talking to you. I bet he doesn’t even have a cock to fuck you with.”

“I bet that’s why she likes him,” Janos sneered.

“That _beast_ is my direwolf, Ghost,” Lyanna said angrily, ignoring the Frey boys’ insults and insinuations and resisting the urge to draw Frostbite and cut them down. “Ghost would eat you both alive before you could even draw your swords.”

“Why would you do that?” Janos asked. “We’re being so nice!” He slung an arm around her shoulders – totally unwanted, of course – and whispered in her ear. Lyanna shuddered at the feel of his wine-heavy breath on her ear. “Joros and I have a bet. Who can make you scream louder. I bet it’d be easy to get you off. You’re Dornish, right?” To make things worse, Joros Frey put an arm around her from the other side and started speaking in what he likely thought was a seductive voice.

“All Dornish girls are secretly whores. You probably want nothing more than to…” he stopped when his fingertips reached Frostbite’s scabbard. “Do you have a sword?” Before Lyanna could react, he grabbed Frostbite’s hilt and pulled the sword free.

“Why do _you_ have a sword?” Janos Frey sneered.

“Who cares,” Joros said, waving Frostbite around. He was starting to attract attention, and Lyanna reached for her dagger, which was hidden at her thigh. “This is a good sword. I think I’ll keep it.”

“Give it back,” Lyanna ground out. “Give it back now.”

“I got the only sword you need right here,” Joros said, cupping his crotch lewdly. _Gods, he’s just like Theon_ , Lyanna thought angrily.

“Hey, I want that sword,” Janos whined, reaching for Frostbite’s hilt. Joros tried to pull away, but Janos got one hand at the pommel and pulled it back. Lyanna watched in silent fury as the two vile idiots squabbled petulantly over _her_ sword. Janos pulled it hard, so hard that Joros’ cheek caught on Frostbite’s razor-sharp edge and started to bleed. In response, Joros punched Janos in the nose, bloodying his brother. Janos refused to let go, though, and the two scuffled and clawed over the sword until a great figure approached from behind them.

“Urk-” Joros said as he and his brother were lifted by the great Areo Hotah, who left his place by Prince Doran and Mellario’s side to stop them. The boys struggled and squirmed but the great captain of the guard in Sunspear had an iron tight grip on the backs of their tunics.

“Let go of the sword,” Areo growled. Only Joros listened. Even still, Lyanna flashed Areo a grateful smile before wrenching Frostbite from Janos. Janos let out a yelp of pain as Lyanna twisted his wrist until he was forced to release the sword. “Good. Now leave her alone.” He dropped them unceremonially on their asses, and they landed with an audible _thud_. Lyanna sheathed her sword and extended her hand out to where she knew Ghost would be. Sure enough, her fingers felt Ghost’s thick white fur, and the direwolf snarled quietly at the Frey boys.

“You’re lucky your big stupid bodyguard is here,” Joros said, running his mouth. Janos was at least wise enough to keep his mouth shut, which was more than could be said for his brother. Lyanna looked at Areo, who picked up that giant two-handed war axe of his and then to Ghost, who’s hackles were raised. The giant wolf looked like a coiled spring, and Lyanna knew that she only had to give the word and he’d maul the Freys. Shaking her head, she walked up to Joros Frey, who glared at her in frustration. Lyanna was acutely aware of the eyes on them, but she just gave Joros a curious look. Joros spat on the floor in defiance.

Lyanna said nothing, instead electing to drop to the floor and sweep his legs from under him. She was back on her feet before Joros Frey hit the ground, his face landing with a _crack_.

“I wasn’t protecting her,” Areo said smugly. “I was protecting you. She’s more than capable of cutting you down herself. Now leave, before the she-wolf of Dorne carves you to pieces.” Ghost padded over and stood over Joros, baring rows or teeth right in the boy’s face.

“My father…” Janos started, before Lyanna cut him off.

“Walder Frey is a mean old man with more children than years. He won’t even notice your absence. If I _ever_ see either of you again, I’ll cut off your balls and feed them and the rest of you to my direwolf,” Lyanna said coldly. “Understood?” Joros nodded dumbly. Both Lyanna and Ghost turned to Janos at the same time, and he turned and bolted from the hall. “Good enough.” Lyanna turned to Ghost and scratched him behind the ears as he got off of Joros, who sprinted after his brother. “Good wolf,” she said affectionately, watching as he walked back over to Elia, who’d pulled a dagger and seemed poised to murder the Freys. Elia flashed Lyanna a smirk, which Lyanna returned.

“Sorry about that, Little Lya,” Areo said, looking Lyanna over. Lyanna flashed him a wide smile to show she was unharmed. “I don’t know why those two are even here, but they’ll never come back,” he muttered darkly.

“I wonder too,” Lyanna mused aloud, turning to see a girl dressed in grey with two twin blue towers embroidered on her dress. _Walda Frey,_ Lyanna thought. The girl – Walda – refused to meet anyone’s eyes and generally tried to make herself as small as possible. _I’d react the same way if I was related to those two_ , Lyanna thought to herself. She looked to see Lord Fowler watching the scene, his lips curled in disgust as he looked back to Walda and shook his head. _Now, that’s interesting._

“Anyways,” Areo said, clearing his throat. “Your family is speaking with Princess Arianne right now, so you may want to join them.” Lyanna groaned internally, wishing to avoid Arianne’s smug look after the scene she’d caused.

“Alright, then,” Lyanna said, remembering her manners. She didn’t want to take her frustration out on Areo, though. “Thank you very much, Areo,” she said sincerely.

“Anything for you, Little Lya,” Areo said kindly ushering her to the front of the line to where Allyria and Beric were speaking to Doran and Arianne.

As Lyanna walked to the head table, she took a second to check her appearance. She’d be damned if she was going to give Arianne _anything_ to criticize. Lyanna checked her dress first, relieved to see the lavender fabric free of stains or wrinkles. She smoothed the front and raised a hand to her hair, which was still more or less in its braids and loops. Lyanna had been certain that the fancy Southron style Ira and Allyria worked so hard on wouldn’t have lasted the night, but it proved more resilient than she’d thought. _Or I’ve gotten better at walking and dressing like a fancy Southron lady_ , Lyanna thought, remembering Ali’s words. She laughed to herself, imagining Arya like this, nervously checking her hair and straightening her dress. _Arya would have torn the dress off before the feast started. She’d have bitten off Joros Frey’s fingers too_ , Lyanna thought fondly. As she walked up to the table, Lyanna schooled her face into a smile and stood next to her Aunt.

“Lyanna,” Arianne smirked. Lyanna could feel Arianne’s large brown eyes rake over her from head to toe. Arianne leaned back in her chair and cocked a brow, crossing her arms. Lyanna tried not to flinch as she met Arianne’s expectant gaze.

“Princess,” Lyanna said, giving her best curtsey. Lyanna wasn’t ashamed to say she’d practiced her curtsies as much as she did her flips and swordplay. Lord Dayne had always praised her diligence in learning the lady-like arts, but looking at his amused expression, Lyanna figured her grandfather guessed why she’d been so concerned with appearing like a proper lady. As Lyanna rose, she stared Arianne straight in the eye, as if to say, _give me your worst. I can take it._

“What do you think, Ser Gerold?” Arianne asked, turning her head slightly to the Darkstar, who stood a bit away from Lord Dayne. Arianne had a few pieces of a blood orange in her hands, and she made a great show of putting a piece in her mouth and licking the stickiness from her fingers. It took all the effort in Lyanna’s body not to stare at those fingers as she kept eye contact with the Princess. “I almost believed Snow was a proper Dornish Lady,” Arianne smirked, her full red lips curling into a sneer. _And there it is_ , Lyanna thought angrily. _Fuck the Princess_.

“I see no lady,” Ser Gerold sneered, his violet eyes staring straight into her soul, “merely a wild wolf clad in silks.” Normally, Lyanna would have taken that as a compliment, but from Ser Gerold, she knew it was an insult. She bit back a remark and watched as Ser Gerold toyed with his hair. Ser Gerold flipped that one strange black lock of hair on his right. Lyanna found Ser Gerold’s hair very strange, for no other reason than that it resembled her own. While Lyanna’s hair was black with silver tips two-thirds of the way down the length, Ser Gerold’s was totally silver save for a single stripe of black on the right side. Lyanna wondered whether as a child, Ser Gerold would look at his hair and think it bemoan its strangeness like she used to do back in Winterfell, or whether he would take a strange delight in the way no one else in the Seven Kingdoms had hair of the same mix of colors. Robb would have likely made some sarcastic remark about how Lyanna had finally found someone who loved their hair like she did. _‘Gods, you’re worse than Sansa!’_ he’d exclaim after catching Lyanna checking her hair in the Godswood pool while they played. It was her only true vanity, one she could tell Ser Gerold shared. Lyanna turned to Arianne, who was _all_ vanity.

“I just wanted to wish you a happy nameday, Princess,” Lyanna said, keeping the hostility from her voice. Arianne chewed on her blood orange slowly and thoughtfully, keeping her eyes on Lyanna. There was a bit of juice on her lower lip, and Lyanna couldn’t keep her eyes off of it. _Oh, she knows exactly what she’s doing!_

“Well?” Arianne said, her tongue darting across her lip. Lyanna stood there transfixed for a moment before she came to her senses and schooled her face back to a neutral expression. She could feel the flush creep along the back of her neck.

“Well what?” Lyanna asked.

“Wish me a happy nameday,” Arianne said, gesturing with her hands, one holding the blood orange and covered in sticky juice and the other holding a small knife. “That’s what you’re here for, right?” she asked, smirking. “Go ahead. I want to see if Lord Dayne can teach a Northern savage to sing as well as she dances.” Lyanna balled up her fists and looked Arianne straight in the eye.

“Ari…” Mellario said. She made to say more, but Lyanna cut her off.

“I wish you a very happy nameday, Princess,” Lyanna said as sweetly as she could. Her voice was dripping with insincere sweetness, and she punctuated it with another curtsey. “I hope that was to your liking, Princess,” Lyanna drawled.

“Hmm. I don’t know,” Arianne said, her lips pursed to the side as if deep in thought. “I think you can do better. Why don’t you give it another try?” Lyanna could feel the indents in her palms from where her fists were clenched so tightly her nails dug into her skin. Only Arianne could make her feel this little, this _furious_.

“Ari, enough,” Doran said in exasperation. “The Daynes have a gift for you, and I think we should respect how far they’ve come to pay their respects.”

“But Father,” Arianne said, in the picture of innocence. _Innocence?! Yeah right!_ Lyanna thought. “I don’t think she was quite sincere enough in her nameday wishes.”

“As sincere as everyone else here,” Lyanna retorted, her mouth running before her brain could point out what a poor idea insulting the heir to Sunspear was. Everyone at the table looked at her with a stunned expression except for Arianne, who laughed loudly. Lyanna thought it sounded like silver bells. _Of course, she has a perfect laugh. Why wouldn’t she._

“Looks like the she-wolf has teeth,” Arianne chuckled. “Well, let me ask you something, Snow. Where was the grand celebration for your nameday? Were any of your gifts as grand as mine?”

“Prince Doran gave me a wonderful gift,” Lyanna returned. “A brilliant book about Cregan Stark and Aemon the Dragonknight’s famous duel.” Lyanna gave Prince Doran a warm, genuine smile before turning back to Arianne, her smile quickly becoming fake. “It was perfect. Your father knows me so well. I actually have a chapter transcribed in my notebook so I can read it here, if you want to take a look.”

That much was true. Lyanna had transcribed the chapter in _Cregan vs. Aemon_ where Maester Kaeth detailed one of the Dragonknight’s signature parries. The technique was called ‘Sister’s honor’, named for both the Dragonknight’s Valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister, and for Prince Aemon’s historic duel with Ser Morgil Hastwyk, where he used it to slay Ser Morgil in a trial by combat and defend his sister from false accusations of adultery and treason. More importantly, the ‘Sister’s Honor’ chapter also described the only time anyone ever countered the parry: when Cregan Stark reversed it and, according to the Dragonknight himself, “nearly took my head off and ended the duel then and there.”

 “I’m sure you’ve appreciated all your gifts as much,” Lyanna finished, looking pointedly at the golden quill given by the Jordaynes, which Princess was using so appreciatively to pick her nails.

Lord Dayne coughed, getting the Martells’ attention. Lyanna was grateful to have the attention shifted from her. She’d run her mouth at the Princess, and while Arianne didn’t seem angry at the moment, she was fickle. Lyanna didn’t want to know how close she was to unleashing Arianne’s _Dornish Fire_.

“My Princess,” Lord Dayne said respectfully. “We’ve come from Starfall to give you a present of our own. We wish you many blessings for this year and the many more to come.” He gestured to the Dayne knights who brought out basket after basket of bountiful fruits.

“You brought me fruits?” Arianne asked, amused. Lyanna bit back the urge to curse the Princess. _Don’t be ungrateful! My grandfather gave you a present!_ Lord Dayne didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Arianne’s ingratitude, though. He gave the Princess a smile as the knights placed basket after basket on the table. The baskets were all made of whicker and ash and painted lavender with the white sword and star of the Daynes of Starfall. Inside, they overflowed with exotic fruits from across the known world. There were fireplums from the Reach that lovingly warmed your belly, plump snowberries from Ibben that were perpetually cold as ice and burst in your mouth, great green melons bigger than a man’s head with red flesh from the Summer Isles, blue pomegranates from Mereen, tart stingbananas from the Basilisk Isles that looked like the stinging tails of Basilisks, Qohori sugarapples that melted in your mouth, coconuts from the Isle of Lys whose milk was so sweet it drove men wild with lust, Tyroshi pears, stormlemons from the Rainwood in the Stormlands, and even Jade grapes from the seas beyond Qarth, at the edge of the known word. The center basket was filled exclusively with starfruit, spiky hard fruit that only grew in the gardens of Starfall. The trees that grew those fruits were great gallows trees that cast the ground around them in shadow, their hanging branches resembling hanged men. They only grew from soil enriched by the minerals of fallen stars, and only fruited for a fortnight or two each year. Lyanna remembered helping her Grandfather pick the fruits for this basket. The trees grew close to her weirwood sapling and winter roses, and Lyanna used their shade to replicate to conditions of Winterfell’s Godswood.

“Would you like a taste, Princess?” Lord Dayne asked kindly. He had a small smile on his lips, and Lyanna felt that he had something up his sleeve. He’d seen Arianne all but reject many gifts that night, from the eagle from the Blackmonts to the Vaiths’ silver mare. Lyanna especially remembered how Elia looked at Lord Daeron Vaith’s gift enviously. She wanted to chastise Elia for being jealous of her cousin but couldn’t. After all, Lyanna remembered watching with slack-jawed hunger as ships from around Westeros and beyond docked in Starfall’s ports and their crew unloaded some of the most exotic fruits she’d ever seen. Lyanna hadn’t even _heard_ of Ibben or the Jade Sea, and to taste fruit from them? To hear the stories of sailors who’d travelled far and wide to lands she couldn’t imagine even in her dreams? Lyanna thought Arianne didn’t realize how lucky she was. She only hoped her grandfather wouldn’t have to watch as all his hard work went to waste when the spoiled Princess rudely dismissed his gift.

Arianne eyed the different baskets curiously. There were the beginnings of a familiar sneer on her lips, but something stopped her. Her eyes drifted from the Ibben snowberries to the Reach fireplums to the Summer Iles melons before landing on the Lysene coconuts. _Of course, she would want the coconuts_ , Lyanna thought dryly. Immediately, images of Arianne drinking the coconuts’ flowing milk came unbidden, invading her thoughts in the most frustrating way. _Gods, this woman is going to drive me mad!_

“What would you recommend?” Arianne asked, looking straight at Lyanna. Lyanna snapped herself out of her daze and looked over all the baskets before settling on the starfruit in the center.

“I would suggest the starfruit, Princess,” Lyanna said formally. Lyanna picked up one of the particularly ripe starfruits. Staring Arianne directly in the eyes, Lyanna drew her dagger and cut the fruit in half, exposing the fruit’s purple flesh. She took one half and expertly peeled it, removing the hard, spiky skin in one go. Lyanna handed the fruit to the Princess, who looked torn between dismissiveness, curiosity, and lust. “Why don’t you give it a taste?” Arianne took the peeled starfruit and eyed in curiously. Lyanna had conveniently removed the seeds as well as the skin, leaving just the flesh for Arianne to stick in her mouth.

“I’ve never had one,” Arianne said, plopping it unceremonially in her mouth. Lyanna noticed her grandfather, Ned, and Allyria watching carefully as Arianne chewed thoughtfully. Arianne seemed to revel in the attention, making a great show of weighing the taste. She _ahhed_ and _ummed_ and chewed agonizingly slowly, and Lyanna had this strange, irrational need to grab her jaw and make her chew faster. When she finally finished – taking so much longer than any normal person would to eat a small piece of fruit – Arianne deliberately licked the rest of the pulpy flush from her puffy lips and perfect white teeth.

“How do you like it, Ari?” Mellario asked, picking up a cluster of snowberries and handing them to Trystane, who eyed the berries hungrily. He looked at Lyanna, who smiled encouragingly, and stuck a couple in his mouth. Lyanna laughed as Trystane’s eyes widened, the boy feeling the famous chill of the berries from Ibben. “I haven’t had starfruit in a long time,” Mellario reminisced. “And I don’t think I’ve even _heard_ of half of these others.” She turned to Lord Dayne. “Thank you for this gift, Beric. It is lovely,” she smiled genuinely, and Lord Dayne returned the gesture with a slight tilt of the head. Lyanna wondered how Arianne could get so much of Mellario’s beauty and absolutely none of her kindness.

“This is satisfactory, I guess,” Arianne said airily, and Lyanna could see the disappointment in Allyria and Ned’s eyes. They’d seen Arianne’s reactions to the other Lords’ gifts, and Lyanna figured her aunt and cousin shared her hopes that Arianne would appreciate theirs. While Arianne didn’t dismiss their gift outright like she had others, she didn’t seem overly impressed with the array of exotic fruits. _Or maybe the Princess is an exceptional mummer_ , Lyanna thought suspiciously, noting that Arianne’s big brown eyes kept darting to the other half of the cut starfruit. _Aye, Grandfather was right. She can’t resist it._

“Merely satisfactory?” Lyanna asked innocently, feigning surprise as if she completely expected Arianne to accept the gift with grace. She picked up the half and peeled and deseeded it as she did the previous half. “I always found them delicious, Your Grace.” Lyanna noticed Arianne’s eyes following the fruit and wondered if the Princess was even listening to her words. “But, if you don’t find them particularly tasteful then, with your permission, I’ll help myself.” Arianne made a small sound as Lyanna made to take a bite. “Unless, you want it, Princess,” Lyanna said, smirking at the way Arianne glared at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Ned grinning widely, recognizing her tactic. The table laughed as Arianne snatched the rest of the fruit from Lyanna’s outstretched hand and gobbled it greedily. Lyanna held back a laugh at the way the stubborn Princess closed her eyes and involuntarily moaned softly at the taste. _Aye, satisfactory indeed,_ she thought, sharing a triumphant look with Lord Dayne and Elia, who’d walked over to sneak snowberries with Trystane.

“Thank you for your delicious gift, Lord Dayne,” Doran said warmly, nudging Arianne, who glared again at Lyanna.

“Yes, my Lord,” Arianne said sweetly if begrudgingly. “Thank you very much.” Lord Dayne inclined his head to receive the compliment.

“Well,” Mellario said cheerfully, clapping her hands together. “I would love it if you’d join us in this bounty. I doubt we’d finish it all,” she said, looking at where Allyria, Lyanna, and Edric were drooling over the fruits. Prince Doran smiled at the children and gestured for them to sit. Lyanna took her place in front of Trystane and Elia and between Allyria and Ned, grabbing herself one of the fireplums.

The fireplums, which came by request from Lord Branston Cuy of Sunflower Hall, weren’t spicy, like their name suggests. Their flesh was sweet and ripe, and their pits hard and black like stone. The fireplums were named for the way they warmed your belly when eaten. Lyanna remembered eating them for the first time and how her stomach felt as warm as the Lord’s chambers of Winterfell. While the fruits weren’t as practical as snowberries were under the hot Dornish climate, Lyanna figured her uncle Benjen would appreciate them if she could figure out how to send them to the Wall.

As Lyanna and Ned showed Elia and Trystane their favorite game with the fruits – eating a fireplum and snowberry in quick succession and feeling their body warm and cool rapidly and dramatically – Prince Doran leaned in with a twinkly in his eye.

“So, Lyanna. Made any progress with your inquiries?” he asked, slightly smug. _That’s where Arianne gets it from_ , Lyanna thought uncharitably. She looked around the table to see everyone looking at her curiously. Elia and Lyanna shared a frustrated look – only they were party to how damn circuitous this mess was.

“I’ve made progress, but every time I learn something new, it makes the entire matter more confusing,” Lyanna admitted. “I can’t tell whether everyone here is a liar or whether I’m missing something.”

“Who have you spoken with?” Doran asked. Lyanna noted her family’s confused looks and wondered if Doran wanted her to keep their conversation vague.

“Lord Qorgyle, Lord Vaith, Jeyne and Jennelyn Fowler, Ben Coldwater, and Guyard Morrigan,” Lyanna recited. Those were all the people she’d spoken with about Lord Fowler. Doran nodded in recognition.

“That is impressive,” Doran mused. “I’d imagine you’re almost there.”

“But I’m not,” Lyanna protested. “Nothing makes sense! It doesn’t feel like I’ve been lied to, but…” she trailed off, looking at Elia, who shrugged. Lyanna remembered Lord Vaith and his niece. “You were very close to Ser Dylan Fowler, weren’t you Uncle?” Lyanna asked. _Perhaps Lord Fowler means to save Skyreach for his late elder brother’s child?_ Lyanna looked at Doran’s face curiously, hoping to see some indication that she was on the right track. Unfortunately, all she got was a raised eyebrow. _Perfect,_ she drawled mentally.

“Of course,” Doran said cautiously, as if wondering where Lyanna was going with that line of inquiry. “He and I travelled together for a number of years.”

“Did he have a wife or child?” Lyanna asked hopefully.

“Not that I know of,” Doran grinned, guessing her train of thought. _Great. There goes my last idea._ “He was unmarried when he died, and Dylan didn’t have the erm… _inclination_ that would sire bastards.” He looked at Lyanna’s frustrated pout curiously. “No, Dylan didn’t leave behind any heirs, trueborn or otherwise.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m stuck,” Lyanna groaned. Doran offered her a smile.

“Keep at it. See if you can’t answer my question tomorrow before you leave for Starfall,” Doran said charitably, though there was an edge of cockiness to his voice.

“I still have not the slightest idea of what they speak,” Ned drawled, answering Lord Dayne’s curious look. Lyanna flushed, realizing that their conversation had been more public than she’d realized.

“Well, don’t give up, whatever it is,” Lord Dayne said, gesturing for a serving girl to bring something. 

“I agree, Lya,” Mellario added. “The Gods know Dorne needs someone to humble my husband.”

“Anyways,” Lord Dayne coughed. “It may interest you to know that these exotic fruits can be made into wine.” He waved as the servants brought a few shining brass jugs and set them on the table. “Most of these wines cannot be found in Westeros. You’ve had Arbor Gold and Dornish Sours, but I assure you, you’ve never had anything like this before.”

Lyanna grinned at Arianne’s startled expression. The Princess had been shamelessly hoarding fruits, bouncing between the different baskets as if the worst thing she could think of was not getting to taste every kind of fruit. More than once, she’d slap someone’s hand away from the Lysene coconuts or the sugarapples. _It seems the only thing that overruled Arianne’s hunger is her thirst_ , Lyanna mused as the Princess turned to eye the different wines set before her. Lyanna figured that even the heaviest drinker would have difficulty finishing all this wine, though from the way Arianne had been gulping her Dornish Sour, the Princess would certainly try. Behind them, the Yronwoods and the Dalts fidgeted in impatience, waiting for their turn to present their gifts to the Princess. Lyanna doubted anything they could provide would match the Dayne’s gift. She noticed that Ser Gerold had left the table and wondered whether as the sole Dayne of High Hermitage, he’d just shared in the credit for their gift.

One of the servants, a young girl about Nym’s age with mousy brown hair, put a bright purple jug in front of Arianne. It had the sigil of the Daynes of Starfall painted on the side, marking it as the starfruit- wine. _Of course Arianne gets the most expensive one first_ , Lyanna thought bitterly, before reminding herself that it was a gift for Arianne, so _of course_ the Princess would get the first taste. Lyanna wondered how the Princess could so easily get under her skin without even doing anything.

“That is our Starfruit wine,” Lord Dayne explained, “made from the starfruit and grapes from the Jade sea. You won’t find it from anywhere else.” The girl put a bronze cup before Arianne and poured the Princess a generous helping of the green wine. As Arianne swirled the green, vaguely luminescent liquid, Lyanna could smell something familiar. The odor was unusual and very faint, but Lyanna _could_ smell something. She sniffed her fruits and her hands, but she couldn’t find the source. From the looks of Elia and Ned, Lyanna surmised that she was alone in detecting the unusual odor. Despite its faintness, the smell was nevertheless nauseating, making her stomach curl up uncomfortably. Perhaps if Lyanna wasn’t so distracted by the unusual scent, she could have stopped the havoc that followed.

All eyes were on Arianne as she raised the cup to her lips, and all eyes were stunned when Ghost’s nose appeared over her shoulder and pushed the cup out of her hands. No one had even seen the great white wolf move over the Princess’s side of the table; even Areo Hotah was startled by the direwolf’s sudden appearance. The cup fell to the floor, spilling its contents, and was soon joined by the amphora, which slipped from the startled serving girl’s hands and shattered on the ground. The serving girl gave a squeak of terror and backed away quickly under Ghost’s blood red gaze.

Lyanna watched with mortification as Ghost, seemingly unaware of how he’d all but ruined part of the most expensive, difficult to assemble, and well-thought gift of the evening, put his head on Arianne’s lap. Immediately, Lyanna got to her feet, completely humiliated.

“I am so sorry, Grandfather,” Lyanna said to a stunned Lord Dayne. Allyria just shook her head, muttering something like _I should have known she was being too well-behaved_.  “I swear, I don’t know what got into him.” Lyanna glared at Ghost, who squeezed under the table to join her back on her side of the table.

“It’s alright, Lya,” Lord Dayne said gently, sensing her distress. Lyanna loved her grandfather more than anything in that moment for not immediately getting furious with her. “There’s plenty more wine, so no harm was done.”  _Except for the wild animal I insisted on bringing that smashed the only container of the rarest, most expensive wine in the world._

“Even still,” Lyanna muttered, grabbing Ghost by the ear, “I’ll take him outside, where he won’t cause more trouble.” Many turned to watch the young girl manhandle a wolf the size of a small horse. Instead of baring his teeth like one would expect of a beast his size, Ghost merely looked at Lyanna apologetically, as if he understood that he’d done wrong. Even still, Lyanna was humiliated, realizing that every Lord and Lady, from the Jordaynes to the Yronwoods to even Lord Fowler himself had seen her completely embarrass herself. Lord Fowler in particular shook his head in disapproval, and Lyanna figured she’d just about destroyed her chances of charming him into revealing his secrets.

“That would be wise,” Doran agreed, shaking his head in what Lyanna could only assume was disappointment. “I’m sure such a large beast needs some space.” Lyanna couldn’t bear to look at Arianne’s smug expression as she and Elia led Ghost away from the banquet hall, watching enviously over her shoulder as the Daynes and Martells went back to their exotic fruits and wines.

 _Brilliant, Lya_ , Lyanna thought bitterly, avoiding Elia’s commiserating smile. _You embarrassed yourself and your family in front of Prince Doran, Princess Arianne, and every Lord in Dorne. And now there’s no way you’ll win that bet. Well Done, bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter was a tough one to write! So much writers block!
> 
> So, I didn't cover absolutely everything I wanted to in this chapter, but it was already pretty long and I found a decent endpoint for the chapter, so I kinda took a cop-out. Sorry! Hopefully this chapter is still satisfying!
> 
> Sorry for everyone who commented on the Author's Note. just realized those comments were lost when I deleted to Author's Note. I promise I did read them, and I did appreciate everyone who took the time to put their two cents in. So thanks for all the comments! I may not respond to all of them, but I do read them. So give me your feedback! 
> 
> Next time: Lyanna takes out her frustrations with some fencing practice and gets advice and clues from unlikely sources.


	9. The Celebration at Sunspear Part 4: Away from the Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Elia take a break from the din of the feast and Lyanna tries again to get close to the Fowlers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Many thanks to the user Valin for finding this picture of what I imagine a young Lyanna Snow looks like! I'm not sure about the original context, but it fits really well!

 

 

**Lyanna Snow**

_From Cregan Stark and Prince Aemon Targaryen, an analysis of the duel between the Black Wolf and the Dragonknight by Grand Maester Kaeth, transcribed by Lyanna Snow_

_I’ve seen Prince Aemon use Sister’s Honor on many occasions. The simplest of the Dragonknight’s signature counters, Sister’s Honor is nevertheless almost impossible to avoid because of the way the maneuver dances the point, nimbly dodging the enemy’s attempts to parry. **This is not true. The reason Sister’s Honor is so deadly is that the technique greatly resembles a basic high guard parry, so the opponent would expect you to parry to your left and counterattack to come from his right and thrust towards his head. However, Sister’s Honor instead parries the opponent’s blade down along the arc of his strike towards your right and answers with a cut to his left. The close resemblance to a different, more common attack is what makes Sister’s Honor so effective.** Prince Aemon used Sister’s Honor to kill Ser Morgil Hastwyck and prove Queen Naerys innocent of false charges of treason and adultery as well as to slay Martyn Toyne when he and his brother Carvin attempted to assassinate King Aegon IV. **Of course, Carvin Toyne wasn’t so easily felled, and stabbed Aemon in the back while the Dragonknight killed his brother.** Sister’s Honor begins with a high guard on the right with the hands crossed close to the head. **No, bring the hands down to level with your heart and keep your off hand loosely on the pommel instead of tightly gripping the hilt. This way, you can counter attack with a thrust to the neck instead of a cut. I recommend this method as it is more forgiving. Should you find yourself in an incorrect position, such as being too far from your opponent, it is easier to land a fatal blow with a shallow thrust than it is with a shallow cut.** When the opponent attacks, take a **half** step back **with your back foot** and bring the point of your sword around to the other side of your opponent’s strike. Parry downwards, keeping along the line of his attack. Once you’ve successfully parried his blow down and away, counter attack with a quick cut to his neck, slashing from right to left. **If you choose to use a cut instead of the recommended thrust, keep your grip on your sword consistent and cut with the back edge instead of turning your wrists and cutting with the front. While this may seem counterintuitive at first, doing so will make your counterattack quicker and give you multiple options to continue the attack, either following up with a snap of the wrists to cut back the way you came or uncross your wrists to bring the blade around and cut again to his left.** The cut should be executed with the tip of the blade, drawing the tip along his neck and slitting his throat. Of course, Aemon famously removed Ser Morgil’s head with this technique, sending the knight’s still helmed head to his brother’s feet, but he bore the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister. Valyrian swords are sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone with ease. Your sword will find the act of removing a man’s head much more difficult in the thick of battle, and you should aim to open your foe’s throat rather than cut through it completely. Doing so will also keep you at a reasonable distance from your opponent. **While this may seem a fine sentiment, trying to cut with just the tip means your foe can take a step back and avoid the blow. Since his hands would be holding his sword close to you, if you miss the counter he can take the opportunity to strike your legs, torso, or head. I recommend using this parry to get close to your adversary instead of backing away.** Of course, in the context of Cregan Stark and Prince Aemon’s famous duel, Sister’s Honor was not yet named, but rather a variation of the high guard parry that he’d begun teaching to his squires. As such, it had not been refined for use against larger, stronger opponents like Cregan Stark and heavy weapons like his greatsword. **This is completely false. Sister’s Honor, with its use of a parry in the same direction as the attack rather than a block, is actually perfectly designed for use against stronger opponents and their greatswords, halberds, pollaxes, and warhammers, and the Dragonknight knew it, which is why he attempted it on Cregan. I could go into great detail on the mistakes Aemon made in executing this attack: he was too far from Cregan, so it was easy for Cregan to step back to avoid the attack, he uncrossed his wrist during the parry, making his counterattack slower, he didn’t move to the left when he should have… but none of them involve the weight of Stark’s sword.**_ _As a result, Cregan’s initial attack struck too close to Prince Aemon, and it was a simple matter to flick his wrists and smack the Dragonknight in the back of the head. Prince Aemon should have performed the counterattack quicker rather than let the swords clash as long as he did. Had he done as I recommended, Prince Aemon would have been able to attack before Cregan could identify his play. **Kaeth confuses Cregan’s greatsword with his own depressingly impotent cock if he truly believes this**_.

 

Lyanna couldn’t help it – she burst out laughing, dropping her notebook on the ground. There was something about Blackwaters’ dry, sarcastic sense of humor that always made her smile, and his snarky jab at one of the wisest men who ever lived’s cock made her giggle embarrassingly the first time she’d read it, too. When she copied the first half of the _Sister’s Honor_ chapter into her notebook for reference while in Sunspear, Lyanna made sure to include all of Blackwaters’ scribblings and notes in the margins, often finding them even more helpful than the original text. Of course, transcribing all of Blackwaters’ tangents, musings, corrections, and sarcastic retorts as written was rather difficult – the enigmatic swordsman would scribble long winded comments in the margins and in between lines and paragraphs as well as angrily cross out passages and sentences he disagreed with. Lyanna included the crossed-out paragraphs, but soon realized that Blackwaters’ methods were always better. She silently resolved to learn more about this mystery man.

“What’s so funny?” Elia asked, dropping her blunted sparring sword. There was a hint of exasperation in her voice, but she couldn’t hide the smile from her lips. Lyanna had been in a sour mood ever since Ghost embarrassed her in front of the Dornish Lords, and the two girls had planned to blow off steam by riding past the city limits and racing across the sands. Lyanna had changed her mind at the last minute, preferring to try out some new moves in the sparring yard, and Elia obligingly took the place of a sparring dummy, even though she’d take the lance over a sword any day.

“Nothing,” Lyanna said, putting the notebook on the table. She picked up her own blunted sword and casually spun it around in her hand, looking at the drawings to refresh her memory on the proper stance. “Just want to get this right.” Elia snorted, some sarcastic comment on her tongue. Lyanna silenced her with a look and sunk into her stance again. “Alright, let’s try it again.” Elia shrugged and readied her weapon.

Elia raised her sword and attacked, a large sweeping arc at Lyanna’s right collarbone. Lyanna rolled her eyes and parried the strike away.

“Elia! You need to attack like I showed you!” Lyanna protested, well aware that she sounded more like a petulant child than a fearsome knight. “From your left to my left!” She used the tip of her sword to illustrate the appropriate arc of the attack.

“Your silly book said to attack to the right!”

“That’s for those who favor their right. I favor my left.”

“I’m sure every enemy your face will attack you exactly how you ask them too,” Elia scoffed. “Perhaps they’ll throw down their weapons and give you flowers instead.”

“Sister’s Honor is designed to counter a specific attack,” Lyanna insisted. She smoothed her rough spun tunic in frustration, silently thankful to be free of her dress. She’d changed into a tunic and a pair of trousers immediately after leaving the great hall, the one blessing from that awful situation. “Obviously, if my opponent throws a different attack, I’ll use a different counter. But if I want to get this one right, then I have to practice. And I can’t do that if you don’t cut properly,” Lyanna drawled, purposefully drawing out her speech as if addressing a simpleton.

“ _Sister’s Honor_ ,” Elia mocked. “You sound like some perfumed boy. You’ll never get anything useful out of a book. _I_ never have.”

“Perhaps if you learned to read, you might,” Lyanna snarked. Elia retorted by sticking her tongue out. “Just give me the proper cut. I think I’ve got it this time.”

“That’s what you said last time, Lya,” Elia reminded her, begrudgingly getting into her stance. “I don’t think you’re Aemon the Dragonknight yet.”

“Just swing, Elia,” Lyanna said tersely, trying to focus. She sank low into her stance, her hands lower like Blackwaters instructed. This time, Elia obliged, striking with a downwards slash at her left. Lyanna attempted the parry but was unable to get her sword out of the way, and Elia’s heavy blow twisted her sword painfully from her grip.

“Fuck,” Lyanna swore, frustrated. She stomped back to the table to look again as Elia chortled. Under the table, Ghost lay with his head atop his paws, guarding a sheathed Frostbite like he always did when Lyanna practiced. The direwolf gave Lyanna an almost sad look, and Lyanna was tempted to forgive him. “I’m still mad at you,” she said to Ghost, refusing to meet his blood red gaze as she leafed through her notes, looking for what she did wrong. “Don’t give me that sad look. You were a very bad boy tonight. I’m very disappointed. No squid for an entire moon,” Lyanna said, willing herself to remain stoic in the face of Ghost’s saddest, most desperate look. She wondered if all mothers had this much difficulty with their children and, for the first time, felt something almost akin to sympathy for Catelyn Stark and her five children. _It is a wonder Lady Stark has a single auburn hair left if this is what motherhood is like_ , she mused.

“Find your answer, Lya?” Elia asked, amused.

“I did everything Kaeth said. Why didn’t it work,” Lyanna muttered to herself, ignoring how Ghost prodded her leg with his nose. Finally, she got to a passage that seemed relevant.

 

_When performing this parry, one must be mindful of the point and parry with the flat of your blade. **Actually, in this case, it is best to parry with the edge, as this keeps your hands in the right orientation. For those having difficulty with getting their sword to the other side of the blow, a simple trick is to perform a little circle with the tip of your blade rather than move the entire sword. This should come from the wrists and is very reminiscent of the finesse and fine movements of water dancing. For those curious, this is what that that idiot Kaeth referred to when describing Sister’s Honor’s ‘dancing of the point’**_

 

“Small circles, huh,” Lyanna muttered, attempting the motion with her sword. It was very similar to the wrist exercises she used to warm up, and after years of water dancing with Master Qarro, the fine movement came much more naturally. “I’ll give it a try.”

“Are you done yet, Lya,” Elia whined. “I want to go riding.”

“We can go once I’ve mastered Sister’s Honor,” Lyanna insisted stubbornly, jutting her chin. “I think I’ve got it. Let’s try again.”

“Once more,” Elia said. “Watching you fail stopped being enjoyable after the eighth or so attempt.”

“I’ve got it this time,” Lyanna assured her. “Blackwaters never fails.”

“ _Blackwaters_?” Elia repeated disbelievingly. “I thought you said Grand Maester Kaeth wrote that book. Who the hell is Blackwaters?”

“Someone from the Crownlands,” a voice from behind answered. Lyanna whirled around to see Sarella Sand entering the courtyard. Sarella walked over to the table and picked up Lyanna’s notebook, regarding the notes carefully.

“What makes you say he hailed from the Crownlands?” Lyanna asked curiously, leaning on her sword to catch her breath.

“His name is obviously a reference to the Bay of Blackwater in King’s Landing,” Sarella pointed out, one hand trailing through Ghost’s fur. “I don’t know much more about him than that. This book is the only mention of him I’ve seen. Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that Ari, Daemon, and Tyene are headed towards the Stone’s Grove to meet Obara. They wanted you two to come.” Stone’s Grove was an oasis an hour’s ride from Sunspear into the desert, and it was one of Arianne’s favorite secret haunts. Neither Lyanna nor Elia knew where it was, and from the look they shared, Lyanna knew Elia shared her excitement to be party to one another of the older girls’ secrets.

“Just let me get this parry right,” Lyanna insisted. “I’ve almost done it.” Sarella took a seat and gave Lyanna an obliging nod.

“I hope you enjoy waiting, Sarella,” Elia warned her sister. “Lya’s been at this for _ages_.”

Lyanna ignored the remark and got into her stance again, remembering all of Blackwaters’ advice. She gave a nod to Elia signaling her readiness, and the youngest sand snake gave Lyanna a strong cut. Lyanna remembered Blackwaters’ suggestion and danced her tip under Elia’s attack, bringing her sword behind Elia’s. It only took an instant, but Lyanna knew that she’d been successful. Lyanna could see the shock in Elia’s eyes as she parried the blow down and brought the tip of her sword to Elia’s neck with just the snap of her wrists, just as Blackwaters’ advised.

“Ser Morgil Hastwyck, I believe you’ve been slain.” Lyanna grinned cheekily as Elia dropped her sword, yielding.

“Well, fuck me,” Elia whistled. “Well fought, Ser Dragonknight.” She punctuated her praise with an affectionate punch in the arm. Lyanna grinned toothily even as she rubbed her throbbing shoulder. “Let’s see that again.” She picked up her sword and attacked again. Just like last time, Lyanna countered, taking her point right up to Elia’s nose this time.

“Well done, Lya,” Sarella smiled, standing up. “Why don’t you two get Nym and meet me at the gate so we can show you the way.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Lyanna agreed, strapping Frostbite to her hip. She was in such a good mood that she even gave Ghost a forgiving pat on his head, which cheered the wolf immensely.

“We’ll stop by the stables on our way,” Elia added. “I could use a good mount.”

“As could I,” Lyanna agreed, remembering how boring the carriage to Sunspear was. This might be her last chance to get on top of a horse until she returned to Starfall.

“Then you should ask Pellis Sarsfield or Ben Coldwater,” Elia said lecherously. “I’m sure they’d love nothing more.” She winked at an oblivious Lyanna, who frowned in a lack of understanding. Sarella sniggered, though, and Elia ran back to the Tower of the Sun, where Nym lay – hopefully without the Fowler twins. It took Lyanna a second to understand the joke, but when she did, Lyanna flushed all the way to her collarbone and tore after Elia, who sprinted just out of reach, laughing all the way. Ghost, ever wise, picked up Lyanna’s notebook in his jaws before following at a leisurely pace. Out of the corner of her eye, Lyanna spied what looked like a figure watching from the shadows around the stables. She stopped and blinked, and the figure was gone. _Strange… I must be more tired than I thought_ , Lyanna mused.

 

 

Lyanna and Elia were making their way up the Tower of the Sun when they heard two voices from around a corner. One was unrecognizable, a deep, gruff bark with little of the expected Dornish lilt. The other, instantly familiar. It was crisp and clear, with elegance and a hint of arrogance.

 _‘The Darkstar!’_ Lyanna whispered to Elia, gesturing for her and Ghost to stop. Elia frowned but held her tongue. Ghost, of course, just sat silently and obediently. The two girls leaned against one of the giant murals in the hallway, one depicting Queen Nymeria and her Ten Thousand Ships. _What’s the Darkstar doing here?_ Lyanna wondered suspiciously. _His rooms are next to ours in the Spear Tower._ Lyanna and Elia were close to where the Tolands, the Santigars, and the Fowlers. Elia and Lyanna were there to fetch Nym from the Fowler twins, but what was the Darkstar doing?

“…tell me, my Lord, do you employ a Septon, or is your insufferable moralizing sufficient to fill the halls of your garish castle.”

“I’d expect someone claiming to be a true knight to show some deference to the Seven, Ser Gerold. You swore to be brave in the name of the Warrior, after all. Just in the name of the Father, and so forth.”

“Clever…” There was the sound of a man being forced against the wall, and Lyanna instinctively reached for the pommel of her sword. “If you really don’t think I know what you’ve been up to, you’re even stupider than you look. Six? Really? You’ve been careless,” the Darkstar sneered. _Six what?_ Lyanna didn’t want to peek around the corner for fear of being seen, so she just listened from her position flush against the wall. She turned to Elia, who made an _‘o’_ of understanding with her lips. There was always something suspicious about Ser Gerold Dayne, and anytime he had a clandestine meeting, Lyanna figured he was up to no good.

“I still fail to see how any of my business concerns you, Ser Gerold,” the other man bit back, his voice wavering slightly. Lyanna could hear him force his way past Ser Gerold and walk away.

“There’s much you fail to see, my Lord,” Ser Gerold answered. Lyanna frowned at how purposefully vague the two men were acting. She looked around their corridor, and she couldn’t see any guards or servants who might overhear. “If a thirteen-year-old girl could guess your plans, what could make you think you could leave me in the dark?”

“Thirteen-year-old girl?” the voice asked, puzzled. Lyanna and Elia shared a glance. _The Darkstar isn’t talking about me, is he?_ Lyanna wondered. She moved closer to the small corridor where the Darkstar and his unwilling companion spoke, pressing her ear right on the corner.

“It matters not. Suffice to say that more powerful people are watching.”

“Powerful people?” the voice hissed, much quieter this time. “Like who?”

“Your worst fear, of course.” Ser Gerold had a smug tone. Lyanna took a chance and peeked around the corner, trying to figure out who Ser Gerold was talking to. This conversation was strange and suspicious. What she saw shocked her completely. Ser Gerold stood in his white doublet and trousers, a silver sword at his hip and a black star over his heart. He casually blew a lock of silver hair from his eyes and stared down the other man. Normally, Ser Gerold would have taken Lyanna’s attention, but this time, the other man was somehow even more interesting. Dressed in blue was, inexplicably, _Lord Franklyn Fowler_. Lyanna covered her mouth to avoid gasping and turned back to Elia, one finger over her lips.

“Does _she_ know?” Lord Fowler asked nervously, probably louder than he intended. Lyanna figured that the _she_ didn’t refer to her. So, who was Lord Fowler so afraid of? It obviously wasn’t Prince Doran. _Maybe it’s Arianne?_

“Of course, she does,” Ser Gerold muttered, his voice so low that Lyanna could barely hear it. She had to peer around the corner again, and she was silently thankful there were no candles nearby. Hopefully, the shadows obscured her enough to get closer. “Why she hasn’t acted yet, I don’t know, but rest assured, _she knows_.”

“I only need a year. Then it doesn’t matter,” Lord Fowler hissed. _A year. Why does that sound so familiar?_

“A year is a long time. Who knows what could happen in the meantime, or what interesting rumors could spread? The Martells can make your life _very_ difficult, Fowler.”

“So, they send their dog to intimidate me? What I do with what is mine is no one’s business but my own!”

“You know very well where my loyalties lie. You don’t want me as an enemy,” Ser Gerold had Lord Fowler backed up against the wall. “I can help you, but only if you help me first.”

“What do you want,” Lord Fowler asked nervously.

“Who travelled the Pass in the last six moons?” Ser Gerold demanded.

“I can’t tell you that!” Lord Fowler protested. “People expect discretion.”

“I can be discreet,” Ser Gerold smiled cruelly. “I can also be very, _very_ talkative.”

“Fine. Manwoody, Dalt, Jordayne, and Qorgyle.”

“And your _guests_ ,” Ser Gerold added sardonically. Lyanna almost had to roll her eyes at their crypticism.

“Of course, but that’s all.” Lord Fowler insisted.

“Are you _sure_?” Ser Gerold pressed. “ _No one else_?” He put a hand on the pommel for emphasis.

“No! That’s all. I swear!”

“No Reachmen? Strange men in armor?” _What the hell are they talking about?_

“Reachmen? No. Strangely enough, none at all,” Lord Fowler replied, confused. “Why?”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” the Darkstar muttered, ignoring his questions. The Darkstar looked uncomfortably like Lyanna did when she was frustrated. “Is there any other way into Dorne by land?” His eyes lit up with malice as he looked back at Lord Fowler. “You know where _it_ is, don’t you.”

“Where what is?”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” the Darkstar hissed. “The path through the mountains. You know where it is. You were in Blackmont not four moons ago.” _Path through the mountains?_ Lyanna remembered the Lady Blackmont and Lord Dayne discussing an exploration of the Red Mountains separating the Reach from Dorne. Lyanna guessed they were looking for a way around the Prince’s Pass so they wouldn’t have to pay Lord Fowler’s tolls. _But why does the Darkstar care about a path to the Reach? High Hermitage is hardly White Harbor in terms of trade._

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me be, Darkstar.” Lord Fowler started to walk towards where Lyanna was hidden before the Darkstar stopped him.

“Nymella Toland is right here,” the Darkstar hissed, leaning on a door. “All it takes is _one_ letter. What do you think she’ll have to say? Or Gwenyth Yronwood? Or Larra and Jynessa Blackmont? Sylva Santigar? Myria Jordayne? Arianne can _bury_ you, and she will. And you’ll need me when she does, because Quentyn Qorgyle and Daeron Vaith won’t be able to do a single thing to save you.” With that, he walked away, and Lyanna could almost see him mentally count _3… 2… 1…_

“Wait,” Lord Fowler said, running up to Ser Gerold. Lyanna couldn’t see the knight’s arrogant smirk, but she could picture it well enough. “Wait. Don’t tell anyone. Please. I’ll do anything.” Ser Gerold just raised a single black eyebrow. Lord Fowler sighed and looked around before leaning in and whispering quietly. Lyanna had to strain her ears to hear him. “ _The Torrentine joins from two rivers north of Blackmont. Ride upstream along the Western tributary for a day, and you’ll find the path._ ”

“Thank you, my Lord,” the Darkstar smiled, the picture of false courtesy. Lord Fowler seemed pale.

“I can’t stress enough how imperative it is that no one know…” he trailed off.

“Know of what?” the Darkstar asked innocently. “The path, or the impending nuptials?”

“Both, Darkstar!” Lord Fowler exclaimed, before collecting himself. “I want your word that you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” The Darkstar grinned, reaching one manicured hand into Franklyn Fowler’s doublet and pulling out his necklace – a golden, rainbow colored seven-pointed star on a gold chain. Lyanna recognized it as the symbol of the Seven. _It looks just like the one Lady Stark wears_ , she thought quietly. _So Lord Fowler is a godly man_.

“I swear on the Mother, the Father, the Warrior, the Smith, the Maid, the Crone, and the Stranger,” Ser Gerold said mockingly. “May you go forwards without fear.” He smiled widely, flashing rows of perfect white teeth. Lyanna thought he looked rather more like snake or a dragon than a man.

“You’re a knight of little honor, _Ser Gerold_ ,” Lord Fowler spat. “I could scarce believe you a Dayne.”

“And what would you know of honor, Lord Fowler?” Ser Gerold retorted, clearly stung by the remark. “You, who’d betray the most ancient of traditions of Nymeria’s Kingdom. You left for Oldtown a Dornishman and returned a fucking septon.”

“Spare me, Darkstar. You care not for Nymeria’s legacy, only your own. So forgive me for caring of mine.”

“ _Your_ Legacy?” Ser Gerold scoffed dismissively.

“Yes. The wealth of the Fowlers rivals that of the Daynes of Starfall and even the Martells of Sunspear. _I_ did that, and I did it _in spite_ of my daughters,” Lord Fowler said, with more than a little air of pompousness. Lyanna had almost felt sorry for the man after watching him get accosted and so obviously blackmailed, but now, she started to revise that opinion.

“ _The wealth of the Fowlers_ ,” Ser Gerold sneered. “Toll keepers. That’s your legacy. The Walder Frey of Dorne. And the thing about toll keepers,” he said threateningly, “is that someone always builds a new bridge.”

With that, Lord Fowler pulled away and walked down the corridor and into the darkness in a huff. As she watched his silhouette disappear, Lyanna couldn’t blame him for wanting to put as many leagues between him and the Darkstar as possible. Even she was uncomfortable by the Darkstar’s thinly veiled threats, and she had little love for the Lord of Skyreach.

The Darkstar lingered for a second, lost in thought. Lyanna wondered what horrors swirled in the knight’s mind. He certainly seemed up to something, and knowing the Darkstar, it was nothing good. The Darkstar fingered his white collar thoughtfully. Lyanna felt Elia tug at her sleeve and turned to face her.

 _“We should go_ ,” Elia whispered softly into her ear. Lyanna nodded her assent, but before they could go into the Fowler twins’ room, Lyanna turned to catch one last look at the enigmatic knight. Even though she was quiet as a whisper and shrouded in darkness, Lyanna nevertheless had the uncanny feeling that the Darkstar was aware of her presence. He smirked, his violet eyes trained on her, and Lyanna froze in fear. One hand drifted to Frostbite’s hilt, a reaction she often had when looking at Ser Gerold, and Lyanna realized that the knight definitely knew she’d been spying on what was undoubtably a private conversation.

However, instead of drawing his sword and silencing her, the Darkstar held Franklyn Fowler’s gilded seven-pointed star in his hand, tossing it up and down carelessly. He made a great show of dismissively tossing it in Lyanna’s direction, flinging it as if uncaring where it went. As she caught it, though, Lyanna knew better. For whatever reason, Ser Gerold _wanted_ her to have this star pendant.

“That was _weird_ ,” Elia muttered. “Come on, Lya. Let’s find Nym so we can have some fun without worrying about the bloody Fowlers for once.”

 

 

Lyanna was still musing over the Darkstar’s conversation with Lord Fowler when they reached the Fowler twins’ room. Lyanna kept twirling the star in her hand. The seven points were colored with different colors, representing the Faith of the Seven. Lyanna didn’t have much experience with the New Gods. Even after a couple of years in Dorne she still kept the Old Gods of her father. Lyanna found the Old Gods of the North less stifling than the Seven. The Daynes of Starfall were not inordinately pious, strangely enough. They kept to the Faith of the Seven more out of formality than anything, which was strange for a House associated with chivalry and knightly values. So, Lyanna didn’t know much of this strange religion of the South, but she figured Lord Fowler must be particularly devoted, for she found his name engraved on the back of the medallion. A small part of her felt guilty for taking something that was obviously very meaningful to Lord Fowler, but Lyanna figured that this strange object was her best bet to win the bet, as there was little chance to speak with Lord Fowler now. _I’ll leave it with the Fowler twins,_ Lyanna thought. _Maybe Lord Fowler won’t even notice its absence._

Perhaps if Lyanna wasn’t so lost in thought she would have noticed that Elia had stopped, her face suddenly pale as if coming to a terrifying realization. Perhaps if Lyanna’s thoughts hadn’t been occupied by the Darkstar’s mysterious agenda or the new pieces of the strange Fowler riddle she might’ve thought about just what she’d be interrupting by calling on Lady Nym. Perhaps she’d have noticed the blue dress on the floor right in front of the door. Lyanna couldn’t be bothered to ask Elia what was wrong, though, and burst through the door to the Fowler girls’ room, loudly announcing her presence to Lady Nym…

…who was laying abed with the Fowler twins. The three women lay tangled together in a mess of limbs and flesh, and Lyanna found it hard to tell where one ended and another began. She noted that Nymeria was in the middle, though the Fowler twins were still uncomfortable close for _sisters_. All three seemed exhausted and half asleep, and Lyanna tried to clear her mind of any thoughts of what had so tired the women.

“Bloody fucking…” Lyanna swore, turning her head and closing her eyes. “I should have knocked.”

“Yes, you should have,” Elia said from outside the room. Lyanna could hear the grin in her voice. “I tried to warn you, but…”

“It _smells_!” Lyanna complained, flushing a bright red. “Do I even want to know what that smell is?”

“That, little Lya, is the smell of a true woman,” Nym chuckled as she extricated herself from the twins, who appeared to be asleep. Lyanna chanced a glance and saw Nym’s naked body rise from the bed. Behind her, the twins almost unconsciously pulled each other closer, with Jeyne Fowler’s hand sneaking to cup her _sister’s_ breast. _Seven hells!_ Lyanna thought, scrunching her eyes shut.

“Aunt Ira never included _this_ in her lessons,” Lyanna retorted without thinking.

“Well, from what I saw of her and Ser Ali, I’m sure she could give you a thorough lesson.” Nym cupped Lyanna’s chin mischievously, her delicate fingers dancing on Lya’s flushed cheek. “So, why have you two disturbed our rest?” Lyanna opened one eye and came face to face with Nym’s _womanly chest_.

“Please put _something_ on!” Lyanna exclaimed, whipping her head around so she couldn’t see the naked Sand Snake. It wasn’t that Nymeria wasn’t attractive; she _was_ , her lithe body and sensuous curves seemingly coiling and slithering as she walked. A naked Nym was easily among the most erotic things Lyanna had seen in her thirteen years, but Lyanna was a true knight. Or at least, Lyanna aspired to one, and ogling nude women was the domain of lechers like the Freys or Theon, not true knights like Prince Aemon Targaryen or Ser Barristan the Bold. _Ser Arthur would never have found himself in this position,_ Lyanna thought to herself, well aware of her racing heart and warm cheeks. _First Arianne and now Lady Nym? I’ll never understand the bloody Dornish._

“Why bother, if I’ll have to take it off again,” Nym reasoned, sounding frustratingly self-satisfied at Lyanna’s reaction. When Lyanna turned around, she saw Nym sitting at the edge of her bed, making no effort to cover herself at all. Lyanna struggled to keep her eyes on Nym’s and not let them wander lower and lower and… _Damnit_ , Lyanna quietly swore. She silently cursed Elia for haven’t the presence of mind to wait outside while Lyanna bumbled around making a fool of herself. “Lya?” Lyanna colored again, realizing she’d spent a minute dumbly staring at Nymeria.

“What Lya’s trying to say is we’re going to the Stone’s Grove with Sarella, Ari, and Tyene to meet up with Obara,” Elia’s cheerful voice echoed from just outside. “Get dressed and come with us. We’re late as it is.”

“The Stone’s Grove?!” Nym said brightly. “That’s wonderful. You’re no longer children anymore but women.” Her smile turned nostalgic. “My first time was at Stone’s Grove…”

“First time doing what?” Lyanna asked unthinkingly. She could almost hear Elia smacking her forehead in exasperation at her naiveite.

“Pinning flower crowns on each other. What the hell do you think, Lya!” Elia exclaimed testily. “Hurry up, Nym. I want to go.”

“Fine,” Nym shrugged. She walked over to where an orange dress was thrown over the back of a chair and shimmied it on. “Where are we meeting them?” she asked.

“At the gate,” Lyanna replied. “We should stop by the stables first, though.”

“The stables? That’s a brilliant idea!”

“I know, right?” Lyanna returned the enthusiasm. “I haven’t been on a proper horse in _ages_. Ever since we left Starfall I’ve had to ride in carriages like some wilting little flower. I can’t wait to ride like a normal person!”

“We have to take some sand-riders too,” Elia cut in excitedly. “Obara told me that the winds are always fierce around the Stone’s Grove. We can go sailing.”

“Good point Elia! I think there were a few in the shed next to the sparring yard. We’ll hitch them to our horses.”

“Eager to lose, Lya?”

“Lose? I’ve been practicing with Silverwing. Grandfather says I ride like a Dothraki Bloodrider.”

“We both know I’m a better rider and sailor than you.”

“That’s not true anymore. I’ve been practicing.”

“You said. But how can you practice sailing in Starfall? There’s no sand!”

“There’s the Bay of Stars. Ned and I take boats out all the time.”

“Pfff. I mean _real_ sailing.”

“…Elia, that _is_ real sailing.”

“Oh Lya… You have so much to learn.”

“Is riding all you two think about?” Nym drawled, interrupting their arguing.

“No, there’s also swordfighting too,” Lyanna pointed out, gesturing to Frostbite on her hip.

“Gods! Enough with the swordfighting!” Elia exclaimed. “Don’t you dare bring that bloody sword with you to the Stone’s Grove! All I hear from you are _swords_ and _counters_ and _guards_ and _fucking Blackwaters_!”

“Children,” Nym said in exasperation, putting on a pair of shoes. “Are we going to the stables or not?”

“Alright. Let’s go,” Lyanna agreed. Nym walked out the door, and Lyanna made to follow before remembering something.

“This belongs to your father,” she said, addressing the Fowler twins as she pulled out the seven-pointed star medallion. Jeyne Fowler gave her a look of recognition. “I saw him drop this, but he didn’t hear me when I tried to return it. I guess I can just leave this here?”

“Oh, is that _Septon Franklyn’s_?” Jennelyn drawled rolling her eyes. “Of course it is. Father carries the bloody thing everywhere he goes. How he dropped it is beyond me.” _Ask the Darkstar_ , Lyanna thought, but did not say, obviously. She didn’t want to explain why the Darkstar had seen fit to give the medallion to _her_ , but Lyanna was loath to play along with his game, whatever his hidden agenda was.

“It’s a very beautiful piece,” Lyanna said awkwardly.

“It’s disgusting,” Jennelyn snorted. Jeyne gave a hum of agreement, and Lyanna was struck by the irony of the Fowler twins finding rare common ground in a mutual dislike of their father’s faith. “Reminds me too much of his lectures on _piety_ and _chastity_ and all sorts of other bullshit.”

“Keep it if you want,” Jeyne said. “It will be rather amusing to see when he notices its absence.”

“I have no use for this, I’m afraid,” Lyanna answered, not wanting to be caught dead with a stolen trinket, especially one that appeared to have both tangible and sentimental value. _Gods, if Lady Stark ever caught me with hers, I’d be confined to my chambers for moons. And this one is easily three times the size!_

“Not very pious?” Jeyne asked, amused. “After hearing of you Daynes of Starfall and your insufferable honor, I’d have assumed you were diligent in your worship of the Seven.” Sardonically, Lyanna thought Jeyne Fowler sounded uncomfortably like her father then, though she figured neither would take kindly to the assessment should she make it aloud.

“I am of the North, of the blood of the First Men, and I keep the Old Gods like my lord father and his forbears,” Lyanna answered, with more than a hint of pride. “I don’t need fancy trinkets or complicated ceremonies when I pray.”

“Of course. You pray to trees,” Jennelyn sneered. _Clearly her disdain isn’t limited to just her own father’s Gods_ , Lyanna thought bitterly, though she did not take the bait. “Hopefully you Northerners aren’t pricks like our father and his fellow faithful.” _That_ caught Lyanna’s attention.

“You don’t find comfort in the Seven?” Lyanna asked. She knew the answer, of course. Clearly the Fowler twins enjoyed the liberating culture of Dorne, and even though she knew only few truly pious followers of the strange Southron religion, she could tell any Septon would be horrified by their idea of leisure. Lyanna could already see Lady Stark’s disapproving glare. _And Gods, Septa Mordane wouldn’t last a day here!_

“Not like our father,” Jeyne answered meaningfully. “He received that medallion from High Septon Maynard back when he was an acolyte at the Starry Sept.” _The Starry Sept_. Lyanna didn’t know much about the culture of Oldtown, one of the oldest cities both in the Reach and in the Seven Kingdoms, but she knew men came from across the Seven Kingdoms to the Citadel to forge their Maester’s chains or to the Starry Sept, where the most pious of the realm became the most respected Septons. Most who pledged their lives to the Faith of the Seven didn’t study in Oldtown, but those who did were among the most powerful among the hierarchy of the Faith.

“I never knew he aspired to the seven-pointed star,” Lyanna said. “How did he become Lord of Skyreach? Don’t Septons renounce ties to any specific House or Kingdom?”

“He didn’t get take his vow,” Jennelyn answered this time. “Lord Dylan died without issue, so our father became the last Fowler and by necessity took up our family’s seat. But it is obvious he belongs in Oldtown more than among the Dornish.”

“When I become Lady of Skyreach, he can go back and mummer as Baelor the Blessed until he fasts himself to death,” Jeyne snorted. Lyanna cringed, knowing where this was leading.

“How the hell would _you_ become Lady of Skyreach if I’m the heir?” Jennelyn hissed.

“ _You_? The _heir_? Ha! Enough with your japes. Everyone knows Father will marry you off to some bloody Lord So-and-So and you’ll never set foot in _my_ castle again.”

“Me? I’ve heard whispers that Father is already setting up a dowry for you. He has to _pay_ some poor desperate Lord to take you off of his hands!” Jeyne didn’t bother to answer, instead lunging at Jennelyn. Lyanna watched in something akin to morbid horror as the naked sisters tossed and grappled, their fighting slowly turning into something else. _Bloody hell, I almost sympathize with Lord Fowler. This is too much._

“Er… I’ll just leave this here,” Lyanna said awkwardly, putting the medallion on a bedside table. “There… Now it’s your responsibility.” Lyanna turned around to leave before Jeyne’s voice stopped her.

“Just one question, Snow,” she said, her voice dropping in pitch. Lyanna turned to see her sitting upright, Jennelyn sitting behind her, mouthing at the side of her neck. Lyanna found it extraordinarily difficult to keep her eyes from following Jennelyn’s wandering hands on her _sister’s_ naked body. Lyanna wondered if the Fowler girls resolved all their fights like this, and she thanked the Old Gods and the New for Lady Stark and Septa Mordane and their strict adherence to their rigid morality. Lyanna definitely would rather Sansa and Arya’s bitter and petty feuding continued forever than for them to resolve their differences if _this_ would be their way of making peace. _Ugh_ , she shuddered, banishing the horrifying imagery from her thoughts forever. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen… though I’ll be fourteen in a few moons,” Lyanna answered, confused.

“Hmm… That’s a little young. Come back in a few years if you ever tire of merely observing,” Jeyne purred, winking at Lyanna before turning back to her sister. Lyanna gave an undignified squeak before bolting from the room, her face flushing again as the Fowlers’ laughter echoed behind her.

“If I was Lord Fowler, I wouldn’t want _either_ of those terrors as my heir,” Lyanna muttered. She didn’t have time to pursue that line of thought before she caught up with Nym and Elia. “How you stand those two I will never understand,” Lyanna said dramatically. “I don’t know what’s worse: how they constantly bicker or how they make up afterwards!” Nym laughed and threw Lyanna another salacious wink, which Lyanna responded to by sticking out her tongue. _Ser Arthur would have done the same thing, right?_

“What did you need with the Fowlers anyways?” Elia asked, her voice meaningful. Lyanna knew she was referring to the bet. _At least one of use remembered_ , she thought guiltily. Truthfully, she’d given up on the bet altogether and figured she might as well have fun now before Doran could send her to be bored to death with Arianne.

“Nothing useful,” Lyanna answered. “I just had to return something of theirs I’d found.” She arched her eyebrows and gestured with her eyes at Nym, who was busy with Ghost. As Lyanna took the notebook from Ghost’s mouth – the poor wolf had been carrying it the entire time – Elia tilted her head and hummed, clearly agreeing that they’d be best served keeping the conversation they’d overheard quiet. _Though the Darkstar knows I was listening_ , Lyanna thought nervously. _I’ll have to be careful around him._

“Anyways, there’s something I wanted to show you in the stables,” Nym interrupted. She had a small smile on her lips, as if she was party to a secret. “Lord Anders Yronwood got Arianne her most expensive present.”

“Nothing could best the present Grandfather gave her,” Lyanna said proudly. “It was the only one the Princess even _looked_ at.”

“I heard that it didn’t go off _entirely_ without a hitch,” Nym grinned, stroking Ghost. The wolf, in another display of unnerving intelligence, gave Lyanna what seemed like an _apologetic_ look. _You’re still a bad boy_ , Lyanna thought, glaring.

“Blame Ghost,” Lyanna said before changing the subject. “So, what did Lord Yronwood get the Princess? I saw some pretty expensive gifts.”

“Wait and see,” Nym said, smirking. “I guarantee you won’t guess.”

 

 

An elephant.

Princess Arianne got a bloody elephant for her name-day.

Lyanna and Elia stared slack-jawed at the great white beast. Lyanna had only ever seen pictures in books from across the narrow sea, but she’d heard that they were found in the Far East, past the straits of Qarth. Sometimes, sailors resting in Starfall would tell her of the wonderous beasts they’d found during their travels, of basilisks and great big snakes and leviathans and krakens. No one ever spoke of dragons, which always depressed Lyanna, but she did hear one tale of a sea dragon near Sea Dragon’s Point in the North. The sailor had gone North and graciously agreed to take one of her letters with him – Lyanna strongly suspected he’d lied when he said he was already going to Wintertown, but that only made her appreciate the gesture more – and he’d returned with a rough charcoal drawing of a sea dragon coming up from the water. From what Lyanna could see, it looked more like some sort of sea serpent than like Aegon the Conqueror’s dragons, but the sailor had insisted that the beast was the size of Balerion the Black Dread. The stories always awoke Lyanna’s wanderlust, and she dreamed of the day she’d see a real elephant.

And here one was. Right in front of her. Lyanna looked at Nym, trying to find her words.

“That’s a fucking elephant,” Elia swore softly. Lyanna didn’t even have the energy to tell Elia off for stating the obvious.

“Aye, it is,” Lyanna said softly, her eyes roaming the beast. She remembered Ali’s description of Mira, of her grey leathery skin, her big ears, and her long, flexible nose. The creature in front of them was definitely an elephant, but it looked completely different from what she’d heard. The elephant was completely white with long ivory tusks jutting out of its face. The creature must’ve been more than twice the height of a man at its shoulder, and it looked like it could stomp Lyanna into the ground like a spike. “The beast must be twelve feet tall!” she exclaimed. “Where do you think he’s from?”

“Astapor,” Nym answered. “Lord Anders Yronwood sent his nephew, Ser Archibald, to retrieve it. Apparently, he bought it from some sellsword company in Essos.”

“Astapor, huh?” Lyanna whistled. “That’s one of the Free Cities, right? What I wouldn’t give to explore Essos.” She walked up to the gate keeping the elephant inside, noticing that the creature was bound with several thick ropes. Lyanna winced, seeing where the ropes had rubbed the poor creature’s skin raw.

“Careful,” one of the patrolling guards called. “The beast is rather unfriendly.” True enough, the elephant rumbled around, clearly agitated as he glared at the girls.

“Pity he’s tied up,” Elia mused. “Can we not give him some more space?” she asked the guard.

“I’m afraid not. The beast is too dangerous. If it gets free, Gods know we would have great difficulty stopping it.”

“We can’t harm it if it gets loose,” Another guard chimed in. “It’s a gift from Lord Yronwood to the Princess. That’s why it was so difficult to restrain the damn thing. I think we should just put the creature out of its misery. I doubt the Princess would miss it terribly.”

Lyanna wrinkled her nose in disgust, knowing she’d draw Frostbite and cut the binds herself had Ghost been in the poor creature’s place. She jumped up onto the fence and stared at the elephant, noticing for the first time how his tusks were bobbled and decorated with gold. He still had his harness, an elaborate platform with a cover to hide the riders from the shade. It was covered in gold and tassels, and Lyanna cringed imagining Arianne lounging atop the creature as she sneered at everyone below. A wonderous animal like this deserved to be free, Lyanna figured, and she knew that Ser Ali would have cast the platform aside, stripped all of the unnecessary gold, and raced him along the banks of the Torrentine. _This is all so ridiculous_ , Lyanna thought angrily. _And he must be so uncomfortable!_ Between the lavish decoration and the rough ropes, the elephant looked to be in a great deal of pain. Lyanna could almost feel something abrasive chafing her, and she had to check her arms to make sure there wasn’t something irritating her skin.

“Lya, we need to get the horses,” Nym reminded her. “Ari and the others are probably waiting for us.”

“Just a moment,” Lyanna insisted, sliding into the elephant’s pen. It was much smaller than one would expect for an animal of it’s size, looking more suited for a horse than an elephant. _Did they create a new pen for this poor creature? Or did they just force him into whatever pen they could find? How dare they?!_

“Lya, what are you doing?” Elia asked worriedly. Lyanna couldn’t blame her for her worries; the elephant _was_ dangerous, after all. Nevertheless, she continued, looking the elephant straight in his small brown eyes.

“You don’t deserve to be in here,” Lyanna said soothingly, running a hand up and down the elephant’s trunk. Her fingers pressed gently into the rough, leathery skin, and she could feel the muscles underneath the prehensile appendage knotting and stretching as the elephant settled. “If it were up to me, you’d be running free. I’d take you with me to Starfall and feed you the finest fruits in the known world and you’d never be trapped again.” The elephant closed its eyes, and Lyanna wondered if her could understand her. Whatever he was thinking, he definitely felt better. It reminded her of how she’d put a hand on Ghost’s head right behind his ear to make him relax. The quiet direwolf had a strange temper to him, and because he never made a sound, it could be difficult for others to recognize when he was agitated, uncomfortable, or angry. Lyanna raised him from when he was a pup, though, and she could always calm him down with a few soothing words or a nice scratch behind the ears. The elephant was much the same, surprisingly enough, and Lyanna closed her eyes, rubbing circles and feeling the beast’s breathing slow. “Are you feeling better?” she whispered, checking around for a fruit or some nuts. She felt a nudge to her side, and she looked to see Ghost with an apple in mouth. “Where did you get this, wolf?” she asked, chuckling and shaking her head as she held out her hand and Ghost gave her the apple. “I’m not even going to ask how you knew I needed this,” she said, holding out the apple. The elephant plucked the apple with his trunk, amazing Lyanna with his precision, and brought it to his mouth. He put his trunk gently on Lyanna’s head as he crunched, and Lyanna could feel his spirits rise.

“What are you doing, Snow?” a smug voice asked, and Lyanna’s fist clenched as she turned around.

“Princess,” she muttered, looking Arianne dead in the eye. Tyene and Ser Daemon were standing next to her, and she eyed Lyanna with a sneer. “I saw the elephant and I figured he was hungry.”

“How kind,” Arianne drawled sarcastically. “I’m glad you were attending some important business. We weren’t waiting for you or anything.” She walked up to the fence and slid through the bars. Lyanna wanted to warn the Princess to stay away but figured that she wouldn’t listen. _Besides, I didn’t exactly heed that advice_ , she thought, feeling the elephant’s trunk slide to her shoulder.

“Perhaps if you were more concerned with your elephant’s well-being,” Lyanna began, before shutting up and turning back to the elephant. Lyanna figured she’d been mouthy enough towards the Princess, remembering the Darkstar’s thinly veiled threats to Franklyn Fowler. _Arianne’s not a good enemy to have_ , he seemed to imply, and Lyanna wondered if she’d be better served by making nice with the Princess, or at least learning to let her snide remarks go.

“Why would I bother with such trivial details when I have servants like you to do it for me?” Arianne retorted, smirking at the way Lyanna flushed and turned away. “Anyways…” she bent down to pick something up. It was Lyanna’s journal, with a bookmark where the Blackwaters transcription ended.

“Er… That’s mine,” Lyanna said, not wanting Arianne to read through her journal. Admittedly, Lyanna couldn’t be bothered recording her every thought in the book, but she used it to keep important notes, especially when she travelled, and she’d rather its pages kept from prying eyes. That sentiment was definitely extended to the pages directly after the transcription, where she kept her notes on the Fowler riddle. _That_ was definitely a secret Lyanna didn’t want Arianne interfering with. However, she was powerless to do anything as Arianne rolled her eyes at the swordfighting diagrams and instructions and flipped forwards.

“If these are truly all your thoughts, then you’re even more of a bore than I thought, Snow,” Arianne derided. “Is swordplay all you think about?”

“Yes,” Elia interrupted before Lyanna could say anything. “Swordplay is truly all that runs in her mind.” Lyanna glared at Elia until the elephant covered her eyes with his trunk, trying to get her attention back. _Gods you’re worse than Ghost!_ Lyanna thought, rolling her eyes. As if on cue, Ghost pushed his head into her other hand. _You’d think him starved for attention_ , Lyanna mused dryly. _I’ve truly spoiled him rotton_.

“Not even the fun kind of swordplay too,” Tyene added lecherously. “Seriously though, what are you doing?” She laughed as Lyanna was swarmed by a direwolf and an elephant, something she bet no other girl could ever say.

“I don’t even know anymore,” Lyanna admitted with a laugh.

“So, that’s what you were talking about with my father,” Arianne said with a triumphant grin. “I was wondering what you two were plotting. Honestly, how you haven’t figured this out is beyond me. Then again, none of the other Lords have either. I guess it is my fate to rule a Kingdom of dullards.” Lyanna glowered for a second before remembering the Darkstar talking about Arianne. Something about her had terrified Lord Fowler.

“Could you help me with that, Princess?” Lyanna asked. “That is, if you think you’re clever enough to figure it out.” Arianne didn’t take the bait, smirking broadly instead.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Snow, and it won’t work.” Lyanna frowned, but Arianne continued. “I will offer you a hint, though.”

“Why?” Lyanna asked, the question tumbling past her lips before she could realize the pointlessness of the question. “I mean, why do you care whether I win that bet?” Arianne shrugged nonchalantly.

“I suppose it would be fun watching you struggle and suffer, but it would be even more fun to watch my father lose a bet to a thirteen-year-old girl,” Arianne said smugly, flipping through the notebook back to the Blackwaters transcription. Lyanna wanted to make some angry retort, but she stopped herself this time. _Any help would be welcome_ , Lyanna thought, staring at the moon in the night’s sky. That sky would be blue and full of sunlight soon enough, and she’d need to give Prince Doran an answer.

Arianne got to a page she liked and started reading aloud. “ _Many speculate why Cregan Stark was able to counter Sister’s Honor. Ser Gwayne would insist that Cregan was stronger, so the parry didn’t work. I would say Cregan was lucky more than anything else, but Prince Aemon also didn’t intend for the parry to be used on larger weapons like Cregan’s enormous greatsword. **This is so completely wrong I find it hard to believe Kaeth wrote a single word of his account of the lives of Daeron, Baelor, Viserys II, and Aegon IV. Sister’s Honor didn’t fail against Cregan because of his size, and Cregan was not merely fortunate like Kaeth suggests. The Dragonknight truly erred in the performance of this maneuver and nearly lost the duel because of this. You see, dear reader, Prince Aemon made the same mistake most did when the Black Wolf came to King’s Landing. He saw the old Lord of Winterfell as a giant Northern savage, strong and rough but not very bright. While Cregan was strong and rough and unflappable, his greatest strength came not from his muscles or his giant blade or the harsh lands he ruled but rather his incredible cunning. Cregan was much sharper than his Southern rivals assumed, and he was well aware of their underestimation. He was so effective, both in this duel and in the politics surrounding the capital, because he was extraordinarily adept at understanding people. When he left King’s Landing and resigned his position as Hand of the King all those years ago after the Dance with Dragons, he did so not because the position was too difficult, as some might suggest, but because he knew the costs of taking a position so far from his home and stayed only as long as he could use the position to benefit the people of his Kingdom. When he returned to answer a summons of fealty by Aegon IV – and duel the King’s brother and loyal Loyal Lord Commander of his Kingsguard – Cregan showed his cunning and power by nearly besting the Dragonknight. Cregan countered Sister’s Honor by recognizing Aemon’s feint and punishing the way Aemon’s counterattack exposed his head. It wasn’t chance or brute strength but finesse and careful observation. While you pore over this chapter, while you practice every grip and stance and parry, while you memorize the minute details like hand placement or tip movement, remember that knowing thy enemy is just as valuable as the most skillful counter or the sharpest sword. Truly know your enemy, know more than what everyone else knows, know their innermost fears and beliefs and you’ve already won.**_ ” She slammed the notebook shut and looked at Lyanna expectantly, as if Blackwaters’ words were supposed to give her some great epiphany.

“Er… thanks?” Lyanna said hesitantly.

“You still don’t know? Gods you’re dull,” Arianne said with a huff.

“How the bloody hell do you know?” Lyanna exclaimed. “Did Prince Doran make this bet with you too?”

“Ha!” Arianne laughed. “I don’t need my father’s prodding to know the goings on of _my_ kingdom,” she sneered. “Franklyn Fowler will learn that sure enough one day, and he will spend the rest of his life ruing the day he dared insult me!” Arianne seemed very angry at this time, and again, Lyanna felt almost bad for Lord Fowler. Somehow, Lyanna doubted the Darkstar would take Lord Fowler’s side. _Whichever Fowler twin Lord Fowler names his heir will have a great deal to fix when they take over Skyreach_.

That being said, Lyanna truly had no idea how Arianne’s ‘hint’ was supposed to help her. There was an awkward silence and Lyanna looked at Arianne to see her staring at the elephant, who seemed aggravated again. Lyanna could feel the tension in the elephant’s trunk and she saw Elia’s eyes widen as the elephant brusquely pulled Lyanna closer. The elephant started breathing heavily and straining against his binds and Lyanna suddenly felt very unsafe. _What is he doing_ , Lyanna thought alarmed, pushing Ghost to the stable wall. She saw how Ser Daemon put a hand on the hilt of his sword and how the Sand Snakes moved away, but what alarmed her the most was the way Arianne stood frozen as an angry bull elephant seemed ready to trample her into the ground. The elephant wrapped a trunk around Lyanna’s shoulders and pushed her to the side, stepping in front of her protectively. _He’s afraid_ , Lyanna realized. She looked around and noticed that much of the binds were frayed and _cut! Seven hells!_

“Arianne! Look out!” Lyanna shouted. The Princess started backing away, eyes widened, as the binds started to snap. Lyanna had to duck to avoid an errant rope, which whipped and whistled through the air over her head. When Lyanna looked up, she saw the elephant trumpet loudly and angrily. He pushed forwards and another rope snapped. There was a crash as the gilded platform atop the elephant fell to the ground, and Lyanna realized he was going to break free. _Someone tampered with the elephant’s bindings_ , Lyanna realized. She looked at the Princess and guessed who the saboteur was targeting. As the elephant burst from its binds and smashed the wooden gate with its tusks, Lyanna acted quickly, doing the only thing she could think to do: grab one of the ropes and climb aboard the rampaging elephant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. So this chapter is a week late. Again. Sorry. Sometimes, life gets in the way and writing fanfiction has to take a backseat. I appreciate all of the love, though! Hopefully this chapter makes up for the wait!
> 
> Yes, I know, I'm bullshitting really hard with the swordfighting part. Sport fencing is actually nothing like what you'd do with a real sword, and I'm not even much of a fencer tbh. What I'm trying to say is I have no idea wtf I'm talking about, so please don't flame me if I sound like an idiot. I'm doing my best and in my defense, I am an idiot. One of the main things that stayed consistent from before the genderswap was the main character being obsessed with swordfighting and knighthood, and I try to give that the weight it deserves, but goddamn if I don't know a damn fucking thing about swords. My google and YouTube recommendations are gonna be weird for a while lol.
> 
> The picture Valin found was very good, but after all this convoluted Fowler bullshit, this is what I imagine Lyanna looks like:  
> https://imgur.com/gallery/ZESV9
> 
> This is the first encounter with the Darkstar! It was really hard writing him, but I kinda went with Snape from the first Harry Potter book as an inspiration. I think its pretty obvious which scene I'm alluding to. GRRM characterized him a bit differently in the books, but I hope you think my take on the character is interesting, at least.
> 
> Now that I think about it, the Darkstar is Snape, Blackwaters is the Half-Blood Prince... Oh god I'm ripping off Harry Potter, aren't I. Like, Dorne/Starfall is Hogwarts, Ira is McGonagall, Doran and Beric are Dumbledore (sorta not really)… Shit, when Sam appears he's totally gonna be Neville... Huh. 
> 
> As always, feel free to let me know what you think! I really appreciate all the kudos, comments, ad bookmarks - even if I don't really know how the bookmarks work on this site. I never thought this many people would like this story, so I really appreciate it!
> 
> Oh, and for all those fans of the owl in chapter five, this elephant just might come back with Lyanna to Starfall, so let me know what his name should be!
> 
> Next time: Lyanna wrangles an elephant and then goes to the afterparty at the Stone's Grove with the Sand Snakes and Arianne.
> 
> I've started on the next chapter and I think we should be back to the every Friday schedule. Thanks for bearing with me!


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